Synesthesia
by Xomniac
Summary: Music and Color bring freedom and a new player to the dark streets of Brockton Bay. The Composer has arrived, and she intends to play her song for all to hear.
1. Overture

Taylor sighed sadly as she walked down the street, sketching in her notebook. _'Another day of school, another day spent in hell. Sure they're lightening up, but were the spitballs necessary?'_

Coming to the opening of an alley, she gave it a contemplative look. _'This is out of my way... but if I keep going my normal route...'_ She swallowed heavily. _'Chances are they'll pick up on my habits and... best to shake it up, at least once.'_ And with those terrified thoughts, she folded her sketchbook under her arm and turned into the dark passage, doing her utmost best to act as unnoticeable as possible.

Rounding a corner in the alleyway, she froze in shock before quickly dashing to a nearby dumpster and pressing her back against it. _'Crapcrapcrap!'_ She silently screamed. _'Oh come on, I go out of my way to preemptively avoid Emma and she ends up being in the middle of an_ alley!? _How the hell is that fair!? And why is she here anyways!?'_

The girl of her nightmares was standing in the dead center of the alley. She had a gym bag slung over her shoulder and was tapping her foot impatiently as she gazed up towards the top of the buildings. "Come on, come on..." She was muttering to herself. "Will you hurry up already? We'll be late!"

Taylor frowned in confusion. _'What... is she talking about? Who is she waiting for?'_

The next instant, her heart nearly stopped as what appeared to be a cloud of living smoke fly down into the alley and land next to Emma. Then, the smoke coalesced into a humanoid shape.

Taylor could barely breath she was so shocked. _'S-shadow Stalker!? What the hell is she doing here!?'_

Emma sighed and crossed her arms, pouting unhappily. "What the heck took you so long?"

"Sorry, sorry." Shadow Stalker admonished half-heartedly. She lowered her hood and reached behind her head, fiddling with a clasp on her mask and setting it free.

Then, she removed it.

Sophia Hess sighed with relief as she took her mask off, shaking her hair free. "That's better. Can't believe how stuffy it gets in there. Anyways, sorry. Miss Militia was riding my ass about 'excessive force' again. Seriously, Armsmaster might be bad about protocol, but she takes this stuff personally. Really gets annoying after the first few lectures, you know?"

Emma shrugged. "I can imagine. Now come on!" She held the gym bag open. "Get out of your costume before someone sees you and let's go! The reservation is soon and Dad doesn't want to wait!"

"Alright, alright, hold your horses." Sophia quickly stripped out of here uniform, exposing the civilian clothes she had on beneath. She then collapsed the crossbow she was carrying and stuffed it into the gym bag alongside the costume.

"Great! Now come on, let's go!" Emma exclaimed, grabbing Sophia by her elbow and starting to drag her out of the alley.

However, before they could get far, Sophia planted her feet. "Wait!"

Emma gave her an exasperated look. "Oh, what now?"

Sophia narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she looked down the alleyway. She slipped her arm out of Emma's grip. "I've got a funny feeling..."

Slowly, dauntingly, she prowled down the alley, like a great cat on the hunt. Reaching the dumpster, she rested her hand on it heavily, leaning forwards in an almost anxious manner.

Slowly, she started to lean around to face the other edge of the dumpster...

"Oh, enough already!"

"GRK!"

When she was yanked back by Emma grabbing her collar.

"My Dad payed good money for these reservations, and I'm not going to be late because you were being paranoid!"

Sophia growled in annoyance as she struggled in Emma's surprisingly strong grip. "You know, when I said you should act more aggressive, this isn't quite what I had in-ACK!"

And with that she was dragged off by her surprisingly assertive friend.

Taylor had her back pressed against the dumpster, her hand clamped over her mouth and terrified tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sketchbook lay forgotten at her side.

 _'Sophia is Shadow Stalker...'_ The words rang through her head with a kind of numb horror. _'Sophia is Shadow Stalker. Shadow Stalker is a Ward. Sophia Hess is a Ward. This... this is why... the school... they won't help me... because she's a...'_

Taylor slowly curled up, cradling her head in between her legs. "They're protecting her," she whispered. "They're protecting her. I... there's nothing I can do about it. This... this is never going to end. It's never going to end, I don't have anywhere I can go... I... what do I..."

Acting purely out of instinct, she fumbled her hand out for her sketchbook. Grabbing it, she quickly began drawing. There was no design, no rhyme or reason, just pure despair and fear rendered in a two dimensional form.

"What do I do..." She whispered. "What do I do, what do I do, _what do I DO!?"_ Her voice climbed higher and higher into a shriek, her drawing become even more frantic and furious.

Suddenly, her pencil snapped in her hand.

Just as something snapped in the back of her mind.

"I'm never going to be free." There was no anger, no fear. Just grim acceptance. "I'm never going to be free and there's nothing I can do."

She felt the world close up around her. She felt, no, she _was_ trapped. Nowhere to go, no chance at escape, and all around her was the worst filth imaginable.

And then... for the second time that day...

The world went mad.

 _ **Trajectory.**_

 _ **Agreement.**_

Taylor's body locked up, every muscle freezing instantaneously. Her pupils dilated as she tried to process what was happening.

Then...

Taylor gave a choked sob as she keeled over on her side, clutching the side of her head with her hand.

"W-what-!?" She whimpered painfully.

Noise.

Her world was filled with noise. Notes and melodies and songs and tunes and _noises._ An infinite amount, or very small, it was impossible to tell. All she knew was that there was a discordant clamor going on behind her eyes, drowning out all other sounds, drowning out her own _thoughts..._

And it _hurt._ It wasn't like her head was about to split open, but it might as well be a step away. So much noise, so little control, it was almost insurmountable.

All Taylor could do was curl up on the ground, her sketchbook clutched tightly in her arms.

Unnoticed to her, a change began to come over the white paper, starting with where her fingers were clutching it. Slowly, color seeped out of her fingers. It _flowed_ across the page, shifting and warping freely. There was no pattern to the movements, no logic. It thrashed and shifted, a frenzy of colorful liberty, ranging from the darkest of purples to the brightest of yellows.

Some would call it maddening.

Others beautiful.

It all went unnoticed by Taylor, who could only whimper in pain.

Unaware as to the fantastic gift she had been given.

 **Synesthesia**

 **Overture**

 **Worm/The World Ends With You**


	2. Sonata 1

**Sonata 1**

 **Four Months Later**

 _'Arc here, shade here, dot here... hmmm...'_

Taylor tapped her pencil on her notepad, absentmindedly mouthing the lyrics of the song that was playing over her earbuds.

She was wearing a black hoodie with white tribal markings on the sleeves and collar. She had green pants with a brown fanny pack hanging on her left side and a chain on her right. She had a red bandana tied around her neck.

She chewed contemplatively on the eraser of her pencil. _'What now, what now...'_

Taylor looked up from her drawing and gazed silently around the bus. Suddenly, a detail jumped to her attention.

A passenger, sitting about three rows in front of Taylor. He was a teenager wearing a red hoodie with the hood up and had a camo-style bag hanging on his side.

What caught Taylor's attention were the tribal wings drawn on the back of the guy's coat.

Acting quickly, Taylor dug into her pocket, withdrew an eraser and chucked it at the back of the guy's head.

Her aim was dead on. The writing implement struck him in the back of the teenager's head, prompting him to whip his hand to the area that had been hit and snap his head around, searching for the origins of the projectile.

Taylor waved her arm, trying to draw his attention.

When he noticed her, the guy focused on her almost instantly and opened his mouth to shout something.

However, before he could, she whipped her notebook up, showing him what she had been working on.

The teen's jaw snapped shut instantly, his eyes bulging in surprise.

Taylor flashed him a smile, then tapped her pencil on the notepad and shrugged her shoulders, an inquisitive look on her face.

The hood-wearing guy blinked in confusion for a second his mouth turned into an 'o' of realization. He then dug into his satchel, fished out a sheet of paper, and unfolded it in her line of sight.

Sketched on the paper was an abstract image, full of looping lines and letters that seemed to simply pop off the page.

Taylor scanned it for a second before her eyes and smile widened. She flashed the teenager a thumbs up.

She didn't see him return the gesture. She was too engrossed in her work, drawing new shapes and forms the rest of the ride, losing herself to the sweet rhythm of her art.

 **-o-**

Taylor hummed in synch with her music as she walked up to the school's entrance. It was an average day, other students streaming into the building around her.

Average... save for the stream of teenagers heading off to the left and gathering in a crowd.

Taylor eyed them curiously for a second before grinning eagerly and walking up to join them. She had a good idea what was going on,and she was eager to see it.

She wasn't disappointed.

The crowd was gathered around a teenager who was currently working on defacing the school wall.

The teenager was a black girl, a teenager. She was wearing a camo vest jacket over a red t-shirt. Her face was obscured by a bandana with a skull-teeth motif and her hair was hidden under a beanie with a flame pattern on it. Running down her exposed arms were a pair of tattoos shaped like the bony outlines of a pair of wings.

The teen had a spray paint can clutched in both her hands, and was actively waving her arms around as she layered the wall in a brand new coat of paint.

Everywhere the paint touched, it didn't stay. Instead, it shifted, flowing across the stone wall, shifting into varying shapes and thicknesses. Colors flashed and dimmed, mixing with each other in a myriad of ways.

Truly a spectacle.

Sadly, as usual, all good things must come to an end.

"HEY!"

The crowd reluctantly parted, allowing a rather flustered Mr. Gladly to push his way through and confront the tagger. The girl stopped her spraying, turning around to face him, her arms crossed.

"Look..." The teacher raised his arms in a placating manner. "I can appreciate your creative talent. Really, I'm sure that whatever you're drawing is very nice, and I would never dare impede your work, or that of your comrades! But..."

The girl tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

Mr. Gladly took that as an encouraging sign to continue. "But look, this school? It's city property! I'm sorry, but there's still going to be _some_ trouble, but I'm sure that it won't be anything major. So, look, how about this?" He held his hand out. "How about you give me the paint and-"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. The girl instantly snapped both her arms out, pointing them straight at him. On the undersides of both the cans she was clutching were a series of cogs grinding against each other, musical notes in their centers.

The teacher paled considerably. "Oh dear."

PSSHHH!

Before he could react, the girl depressed both the nozzles and blasted him with a coat of paint.

While Gladly was coughing and trying desperately to wipe the stuff off of himself, the tagger spun around and flailed her arms in precise, deliberate movements, laying down several more streaks of paint before hightailing it into the crowd and out of sight.

Mr. Gladly struggled for a minute longer with his clothes before groaning as the paint stopped moving. "Not again..." To the amusement of the onlooking students, his shirt was now covered in green and white stripes and his pants were a garish purple and orange polka dot pattern.

"This is the third time this month!" He sighed tiredly and clamped his hand over his eyes. "Please don't let the school be too bad, please don't let the school be too bad..." He cracked his fingers open a notch. Only the presence of the students surrounding him kept him from cursing.

The paint the girl had been using had finally settled. It depicted a cartoon teenager, most of his face apart from his cocky smirk hidden by the shadow of his baseball cap, bursting out of the walls of the school in a shower of rubble, both his hands were held up in a pair of peace signs. Written above him in graffiti-style letters was the phrase **SCHOOL'S OUT FOREVER!**

Mr. Gladly swallowed heavily as he looked it over. "The superintendent is going to _love_ this. Just like he loved the last ten." Finally taking notice of the students milling around him, he cleared his throat and drew attention to himself. "Alright everyone, show's over! Get to class, it'll still be here when you get back!... and about a week after that..." He added ruefully to himself.

And with that, the gathering dissolved, students walking away and milling about. Friends talked with each other, socialites snapped pictures with their phones and posted them online, and so on and so forth.

And Taylor?

Taylor remained where she was for a moment long, simply taking the time to appreciate the beautiful stanza of color and liberty arrayed before her.

A content smile firmly painted on her face.

 **-o-**

Taylor tapped out a steady beat on the floor with her foot as she sat at her desk in order to replace the earbuds that were currently hanging in her hood, her pencil sailing across her notebook.

Suddenly, her artistic liberties were interrupted by a wad of something wet and solid bouncing off her temple and landing smack in the middle of her paper.

Slowly, almost languidly, Taylor put her arm around the seat of her chair and turned around to stare towards the back of the classroom.

There sat Madison Clements, all prim and proper, innocently sipping her soda through a straw. Noticing Taylor looking at her, she smiled widely and gave a little wave.

Taylor sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes as she faced forwards again. She absentmindedly flicked the spitball away and began drawing again, nodding away to an unheard rhythm.

Finally, the door to the classroom opened up and in walked Mr. Gladly, who was absentmindedly fidgeting with the jacket he was wearing with one hand, and running his other hand through his hair and checking it. To Taylor, it was obvious he was checking for something potentially left over from earlier. An event that while no longer completely obvious thanks to a changed pair of pants, was still evident from the neon belt that held them up and the off-color tone to his loafers.

Mr. Gladly sighed, before seeming to surrender to the fact that he wouldn't be able to avoid his embarrassment and sat down at his desk. "Yes, yes, let it all out. I look like I was dressed by a color-blind clown, I know. Heaven knows that this one is going up on the hall of fame that's growing in the teacher's lounge."

There were a few minutes of chuckling before he held his hand up to silence them. "All right, all right, that's enough. Now then, to business! Today's class is on the impact that Parahumans have had on our culture. Now, can anyone give me some examples?"

Several hands went up in the class.

"Hmm... Greg?"

"Internet culture?"

"Good, good! An excellent example! Yes, the website Parahumans Online is extremely popular, and a great source of speculation and cape/civilian interactions! Anyone else? Madison?"

"Music, Mr. Gladly!"

"Hmm, a good example, Madison. I suppose the most relevant example of this would be Paige Mcabee, aka Canary. Her singing voice was lovely, but her unfortunate... incident also extends to affect Parahuman/civilian interactions. Now, one more. Anyone have one more? Taylor?"

Taylor put her hand down, her mouth quirking into a serene smile as she tapped her pencil on her paper. "Art."

Scoffs and giggles erupted throughout the room while Mr. Gladly blushed and sighed good naturedly.

"Well, I suppose we couldn't avoid it forever. Yes, art. The most relevant example right now would be the Reapers. Let's get them out of the way first. Now, are there any questions?"

One hand raised in the back of the class.

"Yes, Richard?"

"Umm, I don't really pay a lot of attention to that kind of stuff and I don't use the computer that often. Why are they called the Reapers?"

Mr. Gladly smiled gratefully. "An excellent question, Richard! To answer it, we'll need to backtrack to their origins. Now, how would most of you describe them?" He began calling out students who put their hands up.

"A gang."

"A secret society."

"A following."

"A movement."

"Yes!" Mr. Gladly clapped his hands in agreement. "A movement, excellent, Taylor!"

The teenager nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Gladly." She then rolled her eyes again when another spitball pegged the back of her head.

"Yes, a movement. More specifically, the Reapers are what could best be defined as an underground artist movement. As one of their members demonstrated ever so eagerly this morning, the Reapers spray paint their art anywhere and everywhere they desire at the drop of a hat. Their central theme is liberty, a desire to break free from the shackles of everyday life. They got their name thanks to a performance by several of their members over three months ago, where several Reapers decided that City Hall needed a facelift. The slogan of this piece of work was 'We will not let our freedom be handed to us. We will reap it ourselves.' This work was led by the only known Parahuman in the Reapers, as well as their founder and leader."

"The Composer, right?"

"Exactly right, Taylor! The Composer is a very reclusive parahuman, and works hand in hand with the Reapers. He, or she, as gender has never been confirmed, has created many works of his or her particular brand of art in the city, as well as encouraging the Reapers to follow in their footsteps, not to mention supplying them with the ability to do so. The Composer's powers allow him or her to, well, _compose_ incredibly complex and intricate pieces of art. He or she also provides unique paint to the Reapers, which allows them to replicate the Composer's skills in their own works, as well as providing them with means of defending themselves or escaping from any law enforcement that try and apprehend them. Some of you may have already witnessed or watched such an escape already."

Nodding and murmuring went around the classroom, as a few students confirmed this to their neighbours with smiles and boasts, before Gladly held up his hands, quieted them down and continued.

"As one can expect, this has also enabled a number of the more...creative works… you might have seen around the city. Specifically, their more visible ones as well as a number of more exclusive ones that can only be seen from the tops of certain buildings in Brockton."

"Or _at_ the tops!" A student quipped, setting off a round of laughter.

Mr. Gladly rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, or _at_ the top of some buildings. Anyways, the Reapers are an invitation-only group, extending offers to artists who they feel meet their criteria. Considering the amount of notoriety they've garnished, suffice to say that pickings have not been slim. Accurate numbers are hard to come by due to the Reapers not having any specific colors or styles, but estimates say that there are currently somewhere around fifty or so Reapers in Brockton Bay. And by the day, this number is growing. It only goes to show how influential a single Parahuman can be on an entire city's culture."

"Hey, wait!"

"Yes Greg?"

"What about tattoos? That Reaper girl who did the school, she had those wing tattoos on her arms! And I saw them on some other guy yesterday, and-!"

"An _excellent_ point, Greg. Yes, those tattoos can be considered a sign of a Reaper membership I suppose, but considering the Reaper's talents in artistry, finding them on people is an especially difficult task, especially considering how the Composer's paint isn't as susceptible to removal as the usual brand. As demonstrated by my necessary wardrobe change... and my laundry."

Mr. Gladly smiled and nodded along indulgently to the laughter. "Yes yes, now that's enough. Well, I think we've covered the world of art quite enough for one day, let's move on to music. Now, Miss Macabee's career started..."

Taylor half-listened to Mr. Gladly talking, smiling to herself as she doodled away on her notebook, etching out a small ode of satisfaction.

 **-o-**

Taylor bobbed her head along with her music as she dug through her locker, searching out her textbooks. She was looking forwards to computer class. Paper and pencil was traditional, but the precision of computers was undeniable.

So enraptured was she with her thoughts that she didn't notice someone approaching her until her earbuds were yanked out and replaced by a pair of headphones belting out rather explicit lyrics.

Taylor yelped in surprise, a spike of pain from the sound in her head suddenly being thrown into disarray encouraging her to rip the headphones off.

Her ears free and the noise in her head partly placated, she was able to hear a very familiar laugh.

Taylor sighed tiredly, resting her forehead on her locker. "I've told you before, Aisha. That's not funny."

She could almost see the playful smile as the girl leaned on the locker next to her, popping the headphones back around her neck.

"And I've told you that it is. You have to stop listening to that soft stuff all the time and give something with a little spine a try."

Taylor just smiled weakly and shook her head.

"But I like my soft stuff. And it's not like I listen to it _exclusively..._ "

The dark-skinned girl snorted and light-heartedly poked her.

"Only because I jack the pod I gave you and switch out your music with something fresh now and then."

Taylor gave her a flat, semi-amused look. "Your 'fresh' taste has greatly expanded my vocabulary against my will."

"And that's a bad thing...?"

Taylor sighed exasperatedly as she shook her head. "You're incorrigible."

"But creative! That's why you invited me to your little group, after all."

The lanky teenager couldn't help but to nod in agreement. "True enough. You certainly earned your wings with that stunt you pulled this morning. You also weakened any faith I might have in your fashion sense."

"Hey, I _intentionally_ made his clothes look bad, my clothes are _ironically_ bad! There's a difference!"

Taylor looked the girl up and down before cocking an eyebrow. "I don't see it."

Aisha gaped at her for a second before tilting her head back and breaking down helplessly. "Oh man, every day you get better at that! I love it! Ahhh, man I love you guys, so. Much. Fun."

Taylor chuckled along good-heartedly. "So, is there a particular reason why you decided to meet up with me, or were you just bored?"

Aisha's grin shifted slightly, going from teasing to downright devilish. "Me and a few others are planning a piece. A big one. Spread the word."

Taylor's gaze sharpened, becoming far more intense. "Where?"

"ABB territory. A few recruiters came after Canto, I say we make our displeasure rather obvious."

Taylor hummed lightly as she thought intently. "It'll be dangerous. I heard from Grunge that they've got a new member. A tinker named Bakuda. A bomb-maker."

"Psh, her bombs might affect the body, but can they affect the soul?"

"Depends on how motivated she is."

"... I'll risk it."

 _"Aisha."_

"Kidding, kidding! Geeze, you sound like my brother."

Taylor sighed tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "Alright, who else has agreed to this?"

"Drone, Chicago, Bluegrass and Industrial. Hop said she might come, but she hasn't gotten back to me yet."

Taylor tilted her head back, blowing her breath out. Finally... "Alright. I'll let the others know, but only so that word gets back to the boss. If you're doing this, she'll want in."

"Sweet!"

"And make sure that you have as many cans as you can carry. Stop by Southern's and pick up a fresh batch if you have to. I don't care how useful you say those tattoos are, you're taking every precaution, understood?"

Aisha nodded eagerly, her mouth affixed in a Cheshire grin. "You got it! We're gonna put on a show they won't forget! Night of the dragon, woohoo!"

"Greeeeat. And _when_ exactly is this 'night of the dragon'?"

"Tonight, why?"

"... you know you're way more trouble than you're worth, right?"

"Indubitably!"

Taylor rounded out her day's performance by beating out a despairing rhythm on her locker to the tune of Aisha's amusement.


	3. Sonata 2

**Sonata 2**

"Hey Dad, I'm going to hang out with some friends!" Taylor called out as she packed her bag and headed for the door.

"Woah woah woah!" Her father called out, quickly running into the room and catching her by her arm. "Wait one second. Give me the rundown one last time."

Taylor sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation with her father's overprotectiveness. "Me and a few friends are going out to hang around town and have fun. It'll probably go on late into the night, but we'll stick together."

Danny pursed his lips for a moment before nodding. "Alright. You've got your pepper spray?"

Taylor dug the canister out of her pocket and twirled it around expertly.

"And all your other friends have cellphones?"

"And I memorized the home number, and I'll make sure I'm back home before tomorrow, and we'll stay safe. Am I forgetting anything?"

Danny chuckled in embarrassment before engulfing his daughter in a hug. "No, that's everything. Have fun, and stay safe."

Taylor rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. "I already said that."

"It bears repeating."

Finally, Taylor extricated herself from her father's grasp. "Well, I better get going. Who knows what Aisha will do if she's left on her own, am I right?"

Danny shuddered lightly. "Point taken. You'd better get going. Bye Taylor!"

"Bye Dad!" She waved as she jogged out of the house and down the street, fitting her earbuds in place as she went.

She ran down the road for about half an hour at a steady clip until she suddenly slowed to a halt. Taylor checked around for a moment, looking up and down the street. Satisfied that no one was watching, she walked up to a door in one of the buildings.

The door had an emblem spray painted on it: a cartoony skull with a pair of wiry wings poking out of the sides, a pair of railroad spikes crossed below.

Taylor jiggled the door's knob a bit and then pushed it open, slipping inside and shutting the door behind her. Locating the lightswitch, she flicked it on and gazed around appreciatively.

The room was relatively cluttered. Shelves lined the walls, cans of paint laying about in a haphazard manner upon them, and the walls were littered with doodles and drawings of varying styles and colors. Some were blocky and dark, others fluid and bright. They spoke of different emotions: frustration, exhilaration, boredom, and a myriad of others. They simply _emanated_ feeling.

The paint cans were all unique in their own rights as well, each bearing a different kind of marking or emblem. Some resembled stylized skulls, others wings or limbs, while the vast majority held gears and music notes. Some were heavily detailed, while others were far more spartan and simplistic.

Taylor nodded approvingly. "Well, glad to see that Jangle is keeping this place on the up and up. Now, let's see..." She wandered over to a cardboard box lying on a table in the center of the room and rummaged through it. "Hmm..." She mused as she dug around, examining the cans that lay within. "More than a few Sound, two cans of Orchesprog, a Madchester, three Memphis Maulers, a Hip Hopper... a _Patchy R & R!?" _She exclaimed, staring at the can with an elephant skull in surprise before sighing and shaking her head exasperatedly. "I don't want to know..."

Satisfied with her inventory, she interweaved her fingers and popped them happily. "Alright, time to get to work!" Taylor laid her hands upon the cans, her fingers splayed amongst them. She closed her eyes and concentrated in the noise in her head, isolating parts of the cacophony. Some were baseless, untainted and unformed tones, while others had some form of definition and purpose. And others yet were long and purposeful, a far more distinct tune within them.

Slowly, pure color seeped from her fingers and flowed all along the cans, moving from cylinder to cylinder. It crawled over the etchings and engravings, flowing up over the tops and into the nozzles. The engraved designs lit up vividly in a jubilee of colors, notes and tones ringing out from them until finally they settled down.

Taylor panted tiredly, running her hand through her hair. "When I find out who used a Patchy of all things... ergh, recreation only goes so far. Ah well." She slung her backpack off her back and onto the table. "Whatever. I've got an appointment to keep. Can't be late." She unzipped the bag, removed a pair of white coveralls and a surgical mask, and slipped them on.

Then, she went to work.

She began to run her hands along the clothing, colors once again flowing across her fingertips and washing over the pure white cloth canvas. It molded and shifted, taking on different colors and textures. Finally, the colors settled.

Taylor was left wearing a black hoodie with voluminous sleeves and jeans with purple flames licking at the borders of the sleeves, coat legs, and hood. The surgical mask had shifted, and now resembled a double-sided paint mask, and her glasses were now a heavily tinted pair of aviator glasses. She had also layered paint over her earbuds, so that they resembled a black pair of DJ headphones with purple stylized treble clefs on the speakers. She dug a rubber band out of her pocket and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, sliding it beneath her hood as she pulled it up and finished the change.

She walked over a nearby mirror left for exactly this purpose, and gave herself a once over with a critical eye. Once she was satisfied, she took a moment to repack the box of spray cans and move them over to the other side of the room, grabbing a cellphone off a shelf and flicking the lights off as she headed out the door.

She flicked the phone open and thumbed a number before putting it to her ear. It rung for a bit before a rough voice with a texan accent picked up. _"Hello?"_

The change was smooth, practiced and natural as her posture and even tone shifted. Taylor left the building, and someone new came in.

"Hey South."

The Composer was on the stage now.

 _"Boss! How ya doin'? You comin' over for Gangsta's little shindig?"_

"Yeah, I am, but first I have a question."

 _"Yeah?"_

The Composer's tone turned accusatory. "I was just at Jangle's. Mind telling me for what reason someone needed to use a one-ton elephant?"

 _"Err..."_ Southern trailed off hesitantly. _"Ya see... Grunge and Crunk got into a contest over a can of Fusion Shark Shanty was offering up and..."_

The Composer felt her eye twitch. "There's another empty can at your place, isn't there?"

 _"What can I say, boss? Nothing beats an elephant-on-elephant trunk-wrestling match!"_

The teenage rebel sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Those two are getting Swechno's on their faces when I next see them, I swear. Anyways, are Gangsta and the others there yet?"

The texan's voice became rife with irritation. _"Oh they're here alright. How could I not notice them SCREWING AROUND WITH MY PIG JIGS!?"_ The last part was roared away from the phone's speaker. Laughter came over the connection in response. The Reaper grumbled irritably. _"Damn brats, I was saving that stuff!"_

The Composer chuckled light-heartedly. "Oh, let them have their fun South! They're just celebrating the little party we have planned is all."

 _"Yeah, well, you better get down here and break this party up soon, otherwise I'm letting my Butoh run rampant on their asses."_

Composer just shook her head. "Alright, I'll be down soon. Make sure they load up, and don't be stingy."

The Reaper grunted, and she could hear the rustle and clang of tin and plastic. " _Don't worry, I got them all kitted out boss. Even slipped in some good stuff just in case."_

She nodded, more to herself than anything. "Okay, see you there. Try to keep them from wrecking the place, South."

A terse laugh came from the other side, even as she started to hang up. _"Fat chance of that."_

The phone beeped, and before it even finished disconnecting she had punched in another number. It didn't even finishing ringing once, before it was picked up.

"Hey…"

 **-o-**

Radios the city over, hung from wooden shelves or perched on metal drums and rickety tables, hissed and spit static as figures danced the dial to a special spot on the numbers and waited. When clocks, watches, and phones everywhere hit nine on the dot, it started.

" _~Hey there fellow brothers, sisters and sinners of all colors, it's time….time for the Reaper Review! We are on the air and in the waves~! I'm your host, the sinfully smooth master of ceremonies DJ Chiptune! To-night, we bring you the word of the street, the letters on the wall, and all that jazz. So sit tight and lay loose."_

There was the sound of liquid being sucked through a straw as Chiptune took a swig of his drink.

" _First on the agenda, you-know-who, our own glorious leader has descended from on high to join us for a new project. Notorious rookie raising in the ranks Gangsta is building a head of steam after our own Canto got a visit from the Bad Boys, and has decided to rally a few brave Reapers to inform the oriental dragon-reject of what exactly we think about that. Word is they got a real hot night planned out. I personally wish them a lot of luck... provided they don't get too toasty…"_

The sound of laughter suddenly rang out over the airwaves.

 _"Ah, just kidding. But still, good luck Gangsta. If anyone wants to lend them a hand, stop by Southern's before eleven sharp. Show 'em that we won't take this lying down! Now then, in other news, Jangle's still taking volunteers to plan out a little shindig at the old rink, and Acid is chilling after getting busted by the PR-pigs near their HQ and almost getting her ass iced when someone put a stun-baggie through her can. Still, Grunge was kind enough to finish her work, so it's all good! Gotta say, I think the new front looks sweet! But hey, that's just me, and you all know how reliable I am, am I right?"_

More laughter erupted for a second before finally dying with a sigh.

 _"Well, we've only got a little time left before the PRT finds this frequency and starts hunting my sorry hide, so let's wrap this up! Time for some phone calls from the lucky few who got our number! Okay, hang on a second..."_

There was a beeping sound on the transmission.

 _"Alright, caller, you're on the Review!"_

 _"Um... hi?"_

 _"Well as I live and breath! I'd recognize that voice anywhere! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a celebrity on our transmission tonight! The lovely missy with the magic fingers, Panacea! What brings someone so prim and proper like you to this cesspool of villainous rebellion?"_

 _"I... wanted to ask you a question. Two weeks ago, you guys came to the hospital-"_

 _"HAHAHAHA! Oh man, I was there for that! I did the waiting room!"_

 _"Right... anyways, you guys came in, sprayed the entire place with washable anti-microbial gloss paint, and..."_

 _"Aw, wait, hang on a sec! You don't like it? Please don't tell me you don't like it! We put so much work into planning it and Mariachi whined like a bitch for a whole week 'bout the beatdown your sister put on him and-!"_

 _"NO! I-n-no. I-I do, I really do, it's... god, it's beautiful. The colors, the way they flow and look like they move..."_

 _"Sooo... what's the problem?"_

 _"Just..._ why? _Why did you do this? All of this?"_

 _"Well, for you of course!"_

 _"Me?"_

 _"Sure! See, back then, another one of our guys, Cajun? He was doing a nice little set downtown, one of those pieces some of the guys do to redeem the Norse figures the E88 capes like to pervert. Unfortunately, their goons took offense to that. Grabbed him before he could bounce and fucked him up something fierce. Lucky thing Franco was nearby and was able to save his sorry ass. He then took him to the hospital, and well, the rest is history!"_

 _"... so... you did it because I helped your friend?"_

 _"Well, not just him!"_

 _"Huh?"_

 _"See, Cajun stuck around the hospital for a bit, 'cuz you skedaddled before he could thank you properly. He saw that the entire time, you were running around willy-nilly, healing left and right, with just about no breaks! Hell, the last time I heard about dedication like that, it was when the boss nearly got nabbed trying to make her way to reach the Protectorate HQ and give the city something to_ really _admire. So anyways, Cajun brought it up with the boss, boss brought it up with us, and we all agreed to give you a big thank you gift for all the amazing work you do! That's an entire lifetime's worth of good karma, earned for us, paid out to you, just like that! Bam!"_

Silence reigned over the transmission.

 _"Hello? Helloooo? Anyone home?"_

Another voice came on the line, filled with gratitude.

 _"Amy... she can't talk right now. But I think that if she could she'd say thank you. And... tell Mariachi I'm sorry."_

There was a click followed by a long minute of silence.

 _"Weeeell... that was a thing. Okay, seeing how long that took, we got time for one more caller, and then you'll have hop over to my good friend DJ Synth's station for the compositions he and his crew have for us! So here we go, last caller of the night!"_

Another click.

 _"Hey there, Chiptune!"_

 _"Ey, that's_ DJ _Chiptune! Come on, Clockblocker, you oughta know that by now! So man, how've things been? Shadow Stalker enjoying the paint job?"_

 _"Er, no. In fact, she's spitting mad. But, uh well, you see..."_

 _"What's up, Clockie? You got a problem?"_

 _"Kinda... Look, DJ Chip, I'm really sorry about this but he found out and- hey!"_

There was the sound of a slight scuffle before a far _older_ voice came over the line.

 _"Attention all Reapers listening, do_ not _mess with Lung, do you hear me? He is a very powerful Parahuman who-!"_

 _"WOAH! Sorry, Army, but it looks like that's all the time we've got, going to have to cut you off, okay, buh-bye, kiss kiss!"_

 _"Don't you-!" CLICK!_

 _"Okay everybody, looks like we're done here. See you all tomorrow, same time, new station! From me to you, this is DJ Chiptune with the Reaper Review! Peace out!"_

And the transmission devolved into static.

 **-o-**

The room went silent as the double doors slid open and she strode in. Her shades caught the shine of the christmas lights someone had strung up as her wide sleeves caught the breeze from the battered A/C that hung over the bar and billowed out.

Then the silence ended and everyone roared in approval. A heavy-set and tanned man manning the bar wound up and pitched a drink at her while everyone walked up for shakes and high-fives.

It was friendly, it was lively. Everyone was smiling or talking or joking with someone else. It was _electric. Thriving_ even. It didn't matter that the building was an old shipping building and was probably older than anyone in it by a good number, or that it was held together with rust and paint. People of all ages, races and genders were here, playing pool in the corner, sitting at tables playing cards, arm wrestling, comparing sketches and a dozen other things scattered around. An old platform was now a stage where a trio of men plucked smoothly at guitars while two girls hung around a battered old fridge near the generator sipping drinks.

This was Southern's. One of many places Reaper's called a second home, if not their first.

Because that was what it was intended to be. It was made to be a _home,_ where they could be themselves, be accepted, no matter what _._

"Hey boss!"

"How's it hanging?"

The Composer turned, looked down and smiled. A pair of kids, a boy and a girl, only about thirteen or so, were smiling up at her. They were wearing red and black hoodies with mirrored tribal designs and reversed colors whose sleeves were way too long .

"Hip, Hop, nice to see you two." She greeted. "I'm fine, thanks. So, are you going out with Gangsta and I?"

The twins nodded eagerly.

"Yup!" The boy said.

"It's going to be a blast" His sister agreed.

She smiled back at them, although they probably couldn't see it. Instead, she nodded and ruffled both of their hair.

"Good. Just remember to back off if something happens, alright?"

The pair sighed simultaneously as they rolled their eyes.

"Don't worry!"

"We'll be fine!"

"Besides..."

They grinned mischievously as they each displayed a spray paint can with mirrored tornado designs on them.

"If things get too rough,"

"We've got backup!"

The Composer tilted her head for a second before sighing and nodding. "Alright then. So be it. Just stay safe."

Both nodded, and as they slipped past and headed off somewhere into the building she could see the other spray cans hanging heavily off the back of their belts. Satisfied with that, she turned and started to make her way to the bar, stopping for a quick chat or a high-five as she went. But as she did make her way, she kept peeled for Ais-Gangsta and the others.

They didn't immediately stand-out, so she hazarded a guess that they were probably in one of the backrooms still getting ready. Or annoying Southern.

"SQUEE!"

Suddenly, a sky blue pig with tribal markings and features ran straight by Taylor until it was hit with a flying tackle from a laughing girl.

Or she could be screwing around with a can of Pig Jigs.

Gangsta crowed gleefully as she clutched the struggling swine in her arms and stood up. "Hey guys, found the real one! Pay up!"

A chorus of groans and cheers rang out through the crowd as money and paint cans exchanged hands.

Gangsta chuckled to herself as she looked around the crowd. "What do you folks say, huh?" She held the surprisingly light pig above her head. "One more round?"

"Actually..."

Gangsta was surprised by a hand reaching above her and tagging the pig. The creature gave a final squeal before dissolving into static and flowing into the Composer's hand.

"I'd say that's enough of that."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Gangsta stood there with her arms up in the air, blinking slowly. Then she gave her boss a flat look. "Was that necessary?"

"Considering how I was about ready to tie you up and strap you to one of my hogs?"

Gangsta looked over the bar and huffed at the guy wearing a cowboy vest and stetson who was grinning at her.

"I'd reckon it was."

Gangsta blew a raspberry at him from beneath her bandana.

The Composer chuckled lightheartedly, holding her hands up in a placating manner. "Okay, okay, that's enough of that. Now, before we go..." She tilted her glasses down a bit to give Southern a flat look. "Where are Grunge and Crunk?"

Southern began acting shifty, refusing to meet her gaze. "Ah, now see, that's a funny story. Way I reckon, they must have gotten wind somehow or-!"

"South." She cut him off. "I can _see_ the Pit Grizzly and Minimal Rhino behind your bar."

The texan swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "What can I say? Capitalism, am I right?"

Before she could respond, there was the sound of crashing and something falling over, before a door could be distantly heard slamming as the cadence of running feet sounded. Instead, she renewed her flat look at the man.

He stared at her wide-eyed, searching for something to say before sighing and hanging his head. "Yeah, I got nothin'."

The Composer just shook her head as she instead made her way to the stage, the three players surrendering it with a nod as she snatched the mic from it's stand.

"Night folks. How's it going?

There was a resounding cheer to answer her, and even a few drinks in the air.

"Hate to break up a bit of the fun, but I need a headcount of who's heading out with us tonight."

"YEAH!" Gangsta shouted, jumping up on stage and yanking the mike from her boss's hand. "Who's ready to stick it to some AB- _bastards!?"_

Another cheer went up as about half the crowd stood up and waved their hands or saluted.

The Composer snatched the mike back from Gangsta, giving her a bemused look before running a quick count through her head. "Alright, so that's about twenty or so. Geeze, almost a third of us. Alright, so..." She turned back to the teenage girl. "This is your piece, Gangsta. I'm assuming you have a plan?"

The tagger nodded eagerly. "Heck yeah! Just a sec!" She darted off the stage, running up to a knapsack lying against a wall. She fished through it for a second before withdrawing a roll of paper and running back on stage. "Here, check it out!"

She unrolled the paper and began outlining her plan to the crowd.

Everyone listened intently, grinning as they watched her scheme unfurl.

The Composer nodded along happily, a smile hidden beneath her mask, but radiated by her stance.

 **-o-**

They were filing out the doors when she reached out and grabbed Gangsta as she passed. It was sudden, unannounced, and and the dark-skinned girl quite literally squealed when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder pulling her to the side. After she gave Gangsta a moment to take in her surroundings, she nodded.

"We need to talk."

The rookie Reaper audibly gulped and was visually suppressed a shiver as she responded.

"T-talk?"

The Composer nodded again.

"Talk. I've been chatting with Acoustic, and she's told me a few things about you."

Gangsta blinked dumbly for a moment, before realization struck.

"Ta-I mean Acoustic?"

"Yes. She's brought a few things to my attention, and I think it's time to address them."

Gangsta swallowed heavily, rubbing the back of her neck. "Um... alright... what is it?"

"Well... from what Acoustic tells me, you're quite the admirable young woman."

"It's not my fault, I was framed! I never even touched those noo-! Wait, what?"

The Composer chuckled lightly. "Well, according to her, you're trustworthy, ambitious, loyal... all very impressive."

All Gangsta could do was stare at her boss in shock, helplessly working her jaw. "I... th-thanks. So... what does this mean?"

"What it means," the Composer knelt down a bit and put her hand on Gangsta's shoulder. "Is that I wanted to tell you that I'm considering giving you an extension to your tattoos."

Gangsta perked up instantly. "Seriously!? Sweet! 'Cause, I was thinking that maybe I could upgrade a bit. Cans are useful and all, but having Decadravens on hand-!"

"Actually!" The Composer cut her off with a raised hand. "I've already decided the kind of Noise you'll receive."

The tagger blinked in surprise. "Huh? But... doesn't the person getting the paint choose what it is?"

The Composer nodded in agreement. "That they do. Unless..." She looked at Gangsta over her glasses. "It's a Cornix Canor."

The teenager worked her jaw, trying to process what she had just heard. "A... a _Canor!?"_ She stuttered. "Y-y-you're going to give me a fucking _Canor!?"_

The Composer shook her head. "Maybe. All I'm saying is that I'm considering it. Acoustic put in the good word. But I need more than words, Gangsta. Show me there is weight in her words and that you deserve it like she thinks you do. I'm putting you in front of the door. Opening it is up to you."

Gangsta nodded numbly for a second before nodding her head with even more fervor. "Y-yeah! You've got it! I'll show you! I promise, I'll definitely earn it!" She grabbed the Composer's hands and shook them fervently. "Thank you, boss, thank you so much!" And with that, the teenager turned around and began running off.

The Composer tilted her head inquisitively, as if she was wondering about the statement. "We'll see Gangsta." She mused.

"We'll see."

 **-o-**

Gangsta cackled happily as she put the finishing touches on the piece of the wall she was working on. "Oh yeah, _this_ is what I'm talking about!" She stepped back to admire her handiwork. "Yessiree, this feels _right!"_

Another broad stroke, and bright, lively colors flowed onto the wall in surreal swirls and streaks. Emerald greens and cherry reds along with a bit of pearly white found homes on the brickwork as the hiss of pressurized air filled the night. Running up and along the wall was the depiction of a long dragon, arching across the wall. Portraits of knives, arrows, and varying other pieces of weaponry transected the beast as it flowed across the 2D space.

And it was _long._ It didn't just stretch across the building, it went from the road to another building and spiralling across the rooftops, encompassing the whole of the city block in it's cartoony yet stunningly real depiction. And it still went further, transitioning from cartoony to a more blocky, geometric form as it went down an alleyway.

The Composer nodded approvingly as she watched. "Congratulations, Gangsta, you've outdone yourself."

The teen tagger laughed in response, nodding ecstatically. "They're going to spend _weeks_ trying to clean this stuff up! Once and for all: screwing with the Reapers is a no-no!" She twisted around and raised an eyebrow at her boss. "You'd think the whole city would know that after what we did to Armsmaster's ride when he tried to cuff Hip and Hop."

She tilted her head back, admiring the scenery.

"We look after our own. We don't ask questions, as long as they don't make them. Anyone is welcome, as long as they got something they want to make. Even those two have something they want to do, and we'll help them do it. We'll look out for them, just like we look out for everyone that takes up with us or our liberty and freedom. We sow and we reap. That's our way." She turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Right boss?"

The Composer was silent, staring at Gangsta quietly before tilting her head. "Those words were beautiful and accurate, but sucking up isn't getting you any closer to that Canor."

"Oh come on!"

"Sorry."

Gangsta pouted in response before sighing and looking back at her piece. "Well, either way... I'd say we're about done. And without a hitch too!"

"BOSS!"

"Me and my big mouth..."

The two turned and watched as a teenager in a red hoodie with a green ballcap and camo bag jogged up to them, doubling over and panting heavily as he reached them.

The Composer frowned and walked up to him hurriedly, helping him up. "Chicago, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

Chicago nodded hastily, still trying to reclaim his breath. "Y-yeah, I'm fine, but boss, there's a problem!"

"Well, what is it!?" Gangsta demanded. "Spit it out man!"

Chicago swallowed as he steadied his nerve. "I was heading back after I finished my piece and... I ran into Lung. And the ABB. A _lot_ of the ABB."

"You _what!?"_

"Well..." He hastily amended. "I didn't actually run into them, I just almost walked in on them meeting together in the middle of a street, so I stayed in the alley. They were talking about attacking somewhere, shooting kids... seriously scary stuff. I got the hell out of there when I had the chance."

Both the Composer's and Gangsta's eyes widened.

"Holy crap..." The tagger breathed.

"This is not good." The Composer agreed.

Chicago nodded definitively. "Yeah. We gotta get out of here. I'll ring Bluegrass, Gangsta, you get-!"

SMACK!

"OUCH!"

The Composer blinked in shock, processing what had just happened. Specifically, the fact that Gangsta had punched Chicago square in the jaw, laying him flat on the ground.

The hooded teen groaned in pain, rubbing his jaw as he picked himself up. "What the hell is wrong with you, Gangsta?!"

 _"What's wrong with me?!"_ She demanded indignantly. "What's wrong with you!? We don't run, we help! That scaly jackass is threatening _kids!_ We became Reapers to defend _freedom,_ what kind of bitches would we be if we let that overgrown freak step on them, if we let him get his way just because he's _stronger_!? You say you're a Reaper? Then act like a Reaper!" She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and yanked him up so that they were face to face, repeating herself forcefully. _"Fucking act like it!"_

Time stood still as they stared at each other, breathing heavily.

Finally, Chicago spoke. "So..." He asked evenly. "What do you think we should do?"

Gangsta let him go and stepped back, her arms crossed. "The only thing we can. We fight."

Chicago was silent before turning to look at the Composer, who had been silent the entire time. "And you?"

The Composer shrugged indifferently. "You all might have decided to call me your boss, but not once have I ever said I was. A friend, a companion, maybe a teacher, but never your superior. Whatever choice you make, it's your call. I'll support it either way."

The teen stared at her for a second before sighing heavily and climbing to his feet, dusting his pants off. "Well, guess there's only one answer to that." He dug his phone out of his pocket and punched the speed-dial, hiding it to his ear. "Industrial? Yeah, it's me. Get the others and meet us at Park and Third. Be ready for one hell of a throw done. Uh-huh. Got it. Later." He snapped his phone shut.

Gangsta nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Chicago."

The Reaper gave a noncommittal grunt. "Don't thank me yet. This is still stupid. At best, I'm doing this so that I don't have to wait for visiting hours in the burn ward to say I told you so."

"Heh, fuck you too, man."

"Not even if I was drunk _and_ stoned." He gave the Composer an appraising look. "So, what now?"

The hooded girl pointed down the alleyway. "Go meet up with the others and come up with a game plan, I need a moment with Gangsta."

Chicago nodded, turned around and jogging out of the alley.

Gangsta swallowed heavily as she looked at the Composer worriedly. "Look, if this is about me punching him, I wish I could say I was sorry, but honestly!"

"Turn around, kneel down, and take your shirt off."

She blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

"You heard me." The Composer repeated. "You just stood up for every last thing the Reapers represent without prompt as a knee-jerk reaction. So turn around and take your shirt off."

Gangsta blinked in shock for a second before realization hit her at a million miles an hour. "You- I- _sweet!"_ She span around, got on her knees, and all but ripped her jacket off, working her shirt over her head.

On her back was a tattoo of a pair of wings, originating between her shoulderblades and running down her arms till they very tips ended on the back of her hands. The resulting image was elaborate and stunning, skeletal and colorful wings that would stretch and flex with every movement.

The Composer reached out, only to stop just short of touching her shoulders. She looked at Gangsta inquiringly. "Are you sure of this? This isn't like the Noise. I can rescind the offer, but I doubt I can ever take this back. Once I do this, it's part of you."

Gangsta twisted around to give her a bemused look. "Hey, do I need to punch _you_ next?

She smiled. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. Offhand, I'm told this hurts. Alot."

Gangsta shrugged indifferently as she rolled her shoulders. "Eh, these things stung like a bitch when Grunge sprayed 'em on, how bad can it be?"

"This bad."

The Composer laid her hand on the teen's shoulders, paint flowing from her hands _into_ Gangsta's skin.

The tagger hissed, biting her lip to keep from screaming. "Y-yeah, that's p-pretty ba-a-a-A!" The gasp and grinding of teeth that escaped the Reaper as the paint etched itself into her muscles was sharp and short as she went from biting her lip to outright tearing into a wad of her shirt.

"There there," The Composer soothed, "Almost through, almost..."

The paint shifted and writhed, flowing into and along the tattoos. Slowly, a shape began to take form that fleshed out more of the skeleton wings and reached up and down her back.

At last, it was done. The Composer let Gangsta's shoulders go and took a step back, her shoulders shaking as she breathed heavily.

Meanwhile, Gangsta fell forwards, falling forwards to lean on her hands as her chest heaved violently.

On her back, the tattoo had shifted so that instead of wings, she had the full-blown skeleton of a bird, stretching from the screeching beak at the nape of her neck to the grasping talons at the small of her back.

"You okay?" The Composer asked worriedly.

Gangsta was silent for a second before nodding shakily. "Y-yeah... just sore. Still though..." She held her hand up before her face, clenching it and unclenching it experimentally.

She gave the Composer a feral, electric smile.

"I feel better then ever!"

The Composer smiled beneath her mask.

"Good enough to kick some yakuza-wannabe ass?"

Gangsta's smile widened even further. Slowly, she drew herself up to her feet, turned around, and slammed her fist into her palm.

"Hell yes."


	4. Sonata 3

**Sonata 3**

"Alright, now come on!" Lung growled to his men. "Let's go teach those punks not to screw with the ABB."

The assembled thugs and goons gave cries of approval, pumping their fists in the air.

Lung snorted once before turning around and starting to stomp down the street, his gang following behind them.

"Actually..."

A voice coming from nowhere caused the draconic yakuza to stop in his tracks, his men halting behind him. Lung snarled, a deep grinding sound as his head snapped to where the voice originated from.

Leaning against the wall of a nearby alley was a lanky female form clad in dark clothing with a purple flame design. Her face was obscured by a paint mask. "I'd rather you _not_ do that." She finished, turning her head to stare at the gang leader.

Lung knew almost immediately who it was. "Composer." He growled.

"Oh!" She tilted her head languidly. "You know me?"

The asian parahuman grunted in acknowledgement. "You are influential. Some of your work is quite... intriguing." He narrowed his eyes beneath his mask. "Why are you here?"

The girl shrugged lazily. "One of my Reapers decided to leave you a little present. We were just finishing up when another one _just_ so happened to overhear your little conversation. Again, I'm going to ask you to _not_ hurt those kids."

Lung drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at the tagger. "And why should I do that?"

The teen straightened herself up as she stayed standing against the wall. "Well now. See, we Reapers? We stand for liberty. Freedom of expression and release from the shackles of oppression and all that. And what you're doing? Hurting those kids because you can? Because you're bigger and stronger and meaner? Now, there's a chance, a possibility I'm wrong, but... isn't _that_ oppression?"

Lung rumbled indignantly. "It appears that you are lacking in information. You believe that we are attacking innocent children? We are not. The targets of our fury are the Undersiders. They robbed my casino, and now they shall rightfully pay."

The Composer stiffened for a moment before relaxing and shaking her head. "Doesn't matter."

Lung crossed his arms, staring holes through the teenager. "You would help a gang of villains?"

"Villain, civilian or hero, we won't just let you do what you will to them. And before you try using an argument like 'is this not our freedom' or something else, just because we support freedom doesn't mean we'll allow tyranny."

The dragon-masked man's growling ramped up a notch, sparks beginning to spray from his mask. "And what makes you think you can stop us?" He demanded imperiously.

The Composer tilted her head inquiringly. "You think that I can't?"

Lung nodded definitively. "You are influential, but you are no threat. Your followers are rebels, artists. Peasants. What can you do to us?"

The Composer shrugged indifferently. "One thing."

She pushed herself off from the wall and turned to face the yakuza, her legs spread and her arms tucked into her hoodie's pockets.

"We can stop you."

Lung threw his head back and barked out a harsh laugh. "And who do you believe will do that, little rebel? Can you injure me?"

The Composer shook her head. "No, I can't hurt you."

"Then in that case-!"

"But my friend can."

Lung snapped his head back towards the girl. "What fr-?"

He was then hit by a stampeding brown rhino with a tribal-tattoo lightning-shaped horn on it's nose and spikes poking from it's shoulders.

CRASH!

The rhino carried the parahuman across the street and through the wall opposite the alley it had charged out of.

The ABB goons stared dumbfounded at the resulting hole, flinching in fear as an enraged roar came out.

"Well!" The Composer clapped her hands, drawing their attention back to her. "That ought to keep him occupied for awhile. Minimal Rhinos are notoriously thick-skinned. So, are you all going to go back home quietly, or are we going to have a problem?"

There was a large amount of clicking as the gangbangers brought their guns up and took aim at the girl.

The Composer rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Of course we are."

"Call that... that _thing_ off him, now!" One of the thugs threatened with a raised pistol aimed squarely at her head.

"Or what?"

"We'll shoot you dead!"

The Composer tilted her head again. "What guns?"

The thug sputtered indignantly. "What g- _these_ guns!" He brandished his weapon menacingly...

Then shrieked in fear when a blur of orange flew right by him, snatching it from his hands.

Cries of shock and outrage rang out from the assembled thugs as multiple orange streaks strafed by them, divesting them of their firearms.

Finally, the figures moved away from the thugs, flapping up to the rooftops where they finally slowed down enough to become visible. They were bird-like creatures with brown feathers, bright orange tribal designs comprising the heads and supporting their wings.

Following the bird-things up to the roofs, the ABB thugs paled in fear. Lining the edge of the buildings were multiple figures dressed in varying outfits and styles. They were all glaring angrily down at the asian gangsters, and they all had spray paint cans clutched in their hands.

The Reapers had come to show their strength.

.

One of the birds flew directly above the crowd, and those who watched it shouted in shock as it alighted upon the shoulder of a flying Reaper who was supported by a pair of skeletal tribal wings jutting from her shoulders.

"You guys were saying something about guns?" She taunted.

Another Reaper on the rooftops gave a derisive laugh as he flipped a can in his hands. "If they were, it was nothing a few good old fashioned cans of Easterraven couldn't handle."

The brute who had initially spoken swallowed heavily before grinning nervously. "Y-yeah? So what? What are you guys gonna do? You're nothing but a bunch of lowlife punks! What're you gonna do, spraypaint us to death?"

One of the Reapers wearing an Australian outback hat held up a trio of fingers before lowering one. "First, you calling us lowlives? I'm sorry, but someone had to call you on the hypocrisy." He lowered a second finger. "Second, not to death, just unconscious, we're not you after all." He lowered the final finger. "And third..."

He unhooked a can of paint from his belt, pointed it at his feet, and began spraying all across his lower body.

The ABB could only stare dumbfounded as his legs were coated in a set of tribal tattoos, altering his legs so that they looked like a massive pair of kangaroo legs.

"To answer your question, yes, we _are_ going to beat you with spraypaint."

All along the roofs, Reapers brought out cans of spray paint and coated their limbs. Some got bear claws, others frog legs, some bat wings, and one even had a set of tentacles sticking out of his back.

Others also used cans to spray on the ground next to them. There were flashes of corporal static followed by animals arising next to the Reapers. The animals were odd, seemingly normal but with parts of their anatomy replaced with tribal tattoos made 3D.

Jellyfish with replaced stingers that swayed on the night breeze, croaking frogs rested upon stylized hindlegs, irate hedgehogs ruffled their unearthly quills, and tattooed wolves that prowled the rooftops on foreclaws made from swirls of sharp color, looking hungrily upon the prey below. Even a few bears, long bony arms crossed in front of their furry chests glared arrogantly at the yakuza-wannabes.

But not all the Reapers used spray cans. Some limbs simply began glowing as tattoos lit up upon them, materializing their unearthly armaments, while others knelt down and slapped their hands on the rooftops, and seconds later were joined by their helpers.

When all was said and done, the ABB were left staring at a small army, armed to the teeth and ready to kick their asses.

"Okay, everyone!" The Composer clapped her hands together twice, a smile evident in her voice. "We came out here tonight for a party, and now? We have our party! So, who wants to kick things off?"

She was answered with Gangsta diving down, flapping her wings to keep her just above the ABB members, and proceeding to reel back and boot one square in the head.

After that, everything was pandemonium.

The Reapers descended from the rooftops, some sliding down drainpipes, others throwing down ropes and scaling down the buildings, while others still simply jumped without abandon, either landing heavily but unharmed upon the pavement with their enhanced legs or taking to the air with their wings. They descended on the ABB like a plague of locusts, ripping into them left and right.

Reapers with arm enhancements smacked down ABB members, knocking them silly with single blows from their massive claws or picking them up and actually using them as living projectiles. Others with powerful legs delivered devastating kicks, sending their foes reeling into their comrades and leaping about the field. Winged Reapers kept above the struggle, harassing the gangsters by taking shots at whatever they could hit.

And they weren't alone. At an unseen signal, the animals accompanying gave them support. The jellyfish incapacitated thugs with their tentacles while wolves and frogs dashed and jumped between Reapers, snapping at legs and forearms and landing and taking off with concussive force, causing their targets to drop weapons or simply drop screaming.

Others started screaming as well, some as the ravens fell upon them like a colour-filled black cloud, claws digging into their faces before flapping away to leave long bleeding rents, while others were pinned to the asphalt by quills launched from the hedgehogs through their clothing, leaving them open to crushing blows from the bears..

One ABB guy staggered back from the fight, breathing heavily. "Holy crap, these guys are nuts!" He muttered to himself. Noticing a pair of Reapers approaching him menacingly, he glanced around for any means of escaping until he noticed a guy in a red hoodie, standing away from the fray, observing it casually.

Acting fast, he dashed up to the guy and grabbed him, wrapping his arm round his neck and fishing a switchblade out of his pocket, which he held to the guy's throat. "Stay back!" He shouted. "Back! Or I slit this guy's throat!"

The approaching Reapers halted, glanced at each other... and broke down laughing.

The ABB goon blinked in surprise. "Wh-what!? W-why are you two laughing!? I-I have a hostage!"

"Because," said hostage drawled boredly. "You just tried to make a hostage out of Chicago Blues."

All of a sudden, a wolf jumped out of nowhere and clamped its jaws on the arm holding the knife, yanking it away violently. The asian outlaw shouted in pain for a moment before screaming in terror as a second bowled him over, the wolves proceeding to tear into him.

Chicago turned and shook his head, sighing despairingly. "Dumbass."

In the middle of the mob, Hip giggled childishly as she skipped through the chaos, a raven zipping past to rake its claws in a thug's face. She _loved_ masses of people like this, it made her life so much easier. A wallet here, a roll of cash there, a fancy watch or phone from somewhere, life was wonderful for the teenage pickpocket.

At least, it was until she was halted by a bruised and battered asian thug blocking her path, towering above her menacingly. The brute smiled grimly at her as he cracked his knuckles. "Hey there brat," He snarled. "Don't you know it's dangerous to go out alone?"

Hip pouted childishly as she crossed her arms behind her back and balanced on her heels. "Aww, but I wanted to go out and have some fun! Say, will _you_ play with me?"

The man's smile became even more vicious. "Suuuure," he taunted. "Got a game in mind?"

The girl's mouth morphed into a taunting smile. "Yeah, one!"

Hop jumped on the man's back, slapping his sleeve-covered hands over his eyes. "Peekaboo!"

Hip pounced forwards, ramming her fist into the man's genitals.

The man gasped in pain, doubling over in agony, allowing Hop to drop to the ground and kick at the back of the asian gangster's knees, forcing him to drop to the ground. Hip then slammed her knee into his nose, and when he snapped snapped his head back in pain, Hop finished him with a double-fisted blow to his forehead, leaving him unconscious and groaning on the road.

The twins immediately went to work, patting the thug down thoroughly.

"Five Benjies in his wallet!" Hip crowed, brandishing the wallet.

"Oooh, fancy!" Hop giggled as he looked over the smartphone he'd procured. He then gave his sister a devilish grin. "Hey, I think I saw a guy with a Rolex!"

"Oh! Expensive!" Hip agreed. "Lead on!"

A Reaper in a rain slicker and hat watched bemusedly as the twins darted off into the crowd. "Well, that was thoroughly disturbing."

The thug clutched in the massive crab claw that covered his right arm gargled miserably as he tried to pry his neck free.

The Reaper gave him a surprised look. "Oh, you're still here?" He asked in honest surprise. "I don't have time for you, shoo!" He flicked his arm casually, sending the man flying back and into the overly large orange tattoo claw of a yellow crab. The man waved at the crab noncommittally. "Get rid of him."

The crab reeled it's claw back, heedless of the struggling man's protests, and flung him through the air.

The gangster flailed desperately as he arced uncontrollably through the air, coming to land painfully on the pavement well clear of the crowd. He groaned in agony as he tried to draw himself to his feet.

His face was then reacquainted with the ground courtesy of a boot stamping itself on the back of his head.

"I'd recommend staying down," the Composer advised without looking at him. "You're done."

The Composer tapped her foot casually as she watched the fight, satisfied with the way things were going. Some of her Reapers had taken a few licks, but nothing they couldn't bounce back from. Things were looking up.

Suddenly, something caused her to frown in confusion and take her headphones off her head. She strained her ears before sighing sadly at what she heard.

Nothing quite killed the buzz like a motorcycle roaring in the night.

Several Reapers stopped fighting and gave each her worried looks, but she waved them off. "I'll handle it, I'll handle it," She reassured. "You guys keep having fun."

The Reapers nodded at her gratefully before returning to using an ABB member as a human beachball, much to his regret and pained resignation.

The Composer strolled up the street nonchalantly, stepping on the backs of unconscious gang members as she went. Finally, she came to halt partway up the street, waiting.

She didn't even flinch as the motorcycle slid to a halt mere inches away from her.

All she did was raise an eyebrow as Armsmaster loomed above her.

"The ever elusive Composer." He intoned darkly.

The teenage parahuman shrugged casually. "That's my name."

The hero's jaw twitched violently as he grit his teeth. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

The Composer glanced over her shoulder for an instance before looking back and shrugging. "Citizen's arrest?"

An ABB goon screamed in fear as he flew by the pair, dragged behind a light blue penguin with dark blue tattoo flippers who was sliding on it's belly at a respectable clip that was carrying a madly cackling Reaper on it's back.

The Composer leaned around Armsmaster to stare after her friend for a second before straightening up. "Flash mob? You'd be surprised at how popular Popguin surfing is, I know I was."

Armsmaster ground his teeth together in frustration. "And what. About. Lung."

The Composer flashed him a happy thumbs up. "We handled him."

"ROOOAAAAAR!"

CRASH!

Silence reigned as an immense explosion rang out over the din of the fight.

For a moment, nothing moved. Then...

SMASH!

A brown rhino fell from the sky onto Armsmaster's motorcycle, crushing it to bits. The beast gave a final keening groan before evaporating into static.

The Composer stared at the wreck for a second before nodding at Armsmaster. "We're handling him."

"ROOOOAAAAAR!"

Lung bellowed furiously as he climbed out of the building, scales covering a good part of his body and flames wreathing him in an infernal aura. "'ill oo!" He grunted. "'ill oo _ALL!"_

The hero growled furiously, making to step around the tagger. "Stay out of my way."

He was halted by the teenage parahuman slapping her hand on his chestplate. "No," she stated forcefully. " _You_ stay out of ours." She whipped around to face the crowd. "GANGSTA!" She bellowed. "TAKE HIM OUT!"

The winged Reaper nodded at her boss. Acting swiftly, she folded her wings and landed on the ground in a crouch. Almost immediately, the tagger's back lit up in a flurry of colors, the semblance of a screeching raven shining through her clothes. The same logo materialized on the asphalt surrounding her on a massive scale, forcing her friends to back up.

There was a flash of light and static, an ear-shattering screech, and a black and blue blur streaking towards Lung at break-neck speeds.

Before the draconian behemoth could react, he was snatched off his feet and into the air.

All Armsmaster could do was gape in shock at what he saw. A bird-like creature, like the ones helping the Reapers, but absolutely _massive_ in 's wings and tail were composed insanely large dark blue feathers, overlaid by purple tattoo scythe-like supports and carrying a purple tattoo beak and head.

Clutching onto the bird's back was Gangsta, cackling like a madwoman. "WOOHOO! COME ON, LUNG! WE'RE GOING FOR A RIDE!"

Armsmaster shook his head numbly in shock. "You're all insane." He muttered.

The Composer threw her head back and chuckled heartily. "I know! Isn't it great?"

Lung struggled viciously in the bird's talons, trying futilely to escape. He attempted to use his fire, but the high force gales passing by him snuffed out any flames he ignited almost immediately. He roared in abject fury. "'ILL OO! _'ILL OO_ _'EAD!"_

All Gangsta did was laugh. "MAYBE LATER, DRAGON BOY, BUT FOR NOW!" The massive bird slowed its flapping, coming to a hover. "We're taking the express route back down!" The Tagger stood up on the bird's back, her fists held up in the air. "HELLO, MY NAME IS GANGSTA AND WELCOME TO JACKASS!" She dropped flat on the bird, clutching tightly to the feathers.

The bird gave a massive beat of it's wings, flipping itself over and pointing down at the ground. It flapped a massive wing, folded the appendages in, diving towards the ground in a stunning spiral.

"KOWABUNGA!" Gangsta screamed exuberantly.

Mere moments before impact with the ground, the bird snapped it's wings open, pulled out of the dive... and released it's grip on Lung.

The gang leader impacted with the ground like a meteor, shattering the asphalt and sending up a cloud of dust.

Armsmaster growled furiously as he waved his hand in front of his face, trying to disperse the fumes. "That was reckless."

The Composer shrugged. "Maybe. Still though..." She looked over at Lung as he started to groan, trying to pick himself up. "Shouldn't you be finishing the job?"

Armsmaster cursed venomously, dashing up to the shifting Parahuman. Before Lung had a chance to get on his feet, he jabbed the butt of his halberd into the man's neck. Lung gave out a final groan before collapsing on the ground, scales receding into his body.

The hero panted in exhaustion for a second before redoubling his grip on his halberd. "All right, all of you! Get on the ground, hands behind your-!" He cut off as he wheeled around...

And came face to nozzle with the two cans Hop was pointing at him as he balanced on his sister's shoulders.

"Ah crap." He groaned.

Hop grinned devilishly. "Later, Army!"

PSSSHHH!

The hero shouted indignantly, stumbling backwards as he wiped furiously at his visor trying to dislodge the paint before it dried.'

When he finally managed to clear his cameras, he couldn't withheld a groan at what he saw.

The Reapers were long gone, leaving behind the broken, bruised and battered remains of the ABB.

Armsmaster sighed heavily, running his hand over his helmet. "Assault is never going to let me hear the end of this."

 **-o-**

Gangsta wheezed as she leaned on the side of the alley, her hands on her knees. Giggles escaped her everytime she drew breath. "Hehehe... that... he! The was awesome! Heheheee..."

The Composer nodded in agreement, but her demeanor was a bit more serious.

Gangsta noticed almost immediately, turning to give her boss a surprised look. "Boss? Everything alright?"

The Parahuman was silent, keeping her head bowed. Finally...

"Go home, Gangsta."

The Reaper straightened up almost instantly. "Huh? But boss, why? Did I do-?"

"No, you did just fine." The Composer reassured her. "Just... it's been a long night. Go home and rest, okay?"

Gangsta stared at her for a moment longer before nodding hesitantly. "O-okay boss, whatever you say." Her back flashed with light and static for a moment before her wings materialized. "See ya later."

The Composer waved in agreement. "Later."

She waited until Gangsta took off and she was sure she was gone before digging into her pocket and drawing out a phone.

"Chiptune? Yeah, it's me. Look, tomorrow's Review is cancelled. Get the word out: we're having a recital at the Gallery, ten sharp. Uh-huh. Top priority. Right, later."

She shut the phone with a click and walked off into the night.


	5. Sonata 4

**Sonata 4**

 **-o-**

The Composer rapped on the boarded-up door. Once, twice, then three times in quick succession.

At first, there was no response. Then a hidden panel popped open in the middle of the door, allowing someone to stare through the opening.

"What's the password?"

The Composer sighed tiredly, placing her hand on the door next to the opening, allowing color to flow through it and to the other side, "Open up or I'll break it down."

The panel slammed shut, followed by the sound of multiple locks opening and chains coming undone. The door swung open, showing that the boards were only there to allowing a the Reaper to eye her warily, "Yeesh, boss. What crawled up your ass and died?"

The Composer walked past him, grumbling under her breath, "A ten-foot tall game-changing dragon."

The Reaper swallowed heavily as he realized what she was talking about, "Point taken. Er, by the way! I really like your outfit, boss!"

The Composer stopped for a second, looking over her clothes. She was wearing a crimson long coat over a sleeveless red flak jacket. The coat had grey lightning bolts streaking from the center of her back. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had a red military-style cap on her head. Her face was obscured mask by a gas mask that covered the bottom half of her head, while her eyes were hidden behind a pair of orange-tinted ski goggles. She had a military headset over the cap, grey treble clefs on the speakers and the microphone positioned in front of her mouth.

The Composer took a moment to smirk beneath her mask. _'Sometimes, there are benefits to being able to customize your costume.'_ She gave the Reaper a grateful nod, "Thanks. Keep up the good work."

The Reaper gave her a casual salute, "Will do! But... for the record? It's a good thing you got here so soon. Things are getting kinda... _tense_ in there."

The parahuman stiffened visibly. _"How_ tense?"

"Ten more minutes and Gangsta and Grunge will be painting each other black and blue?"

The Composer cursed, dashing down the hallway and into the Gallery proper.

"Well, alright then! Nice talking to you!"

The Composer emerged into a wide, open space. Above, the glass dome let in the night light where it wasn't covered by paint or cracked and broken. All around, Reaper's were gathered and talking, trading, or just hanging out on salvaged deck chairs and whatever else was on hand. Normally she would take the time to mingle, admire whatever new art had been hung up, but right now she didn't have the time.

She cut her way through the crowd, people taking one look at her and parting like the Red Sea as she made for the entrance to the showroom wing. But as she went through the doors, she took a sudden right and headed through another set marked 'employee's only'.

Or she would have, had she not taken notice of a throng of Reapers clamoring around a small podium off to the side. More specifically, a certain individual standing just on the outskirts of the crowd. She turned on her heel and began making her way towards the gathering.

The group was rather unruly, shouts and gestures flying about wildly. Directing the mayhem were Hip and Hop, grinning madly as they balanced on top of the podium.

"Do I hear three Sound for this Brit Popguin? Three Sound, three Sound, going once, twice! Three Sound and a Jungle Boomer! That's three Sound and a J-Boomer, _four!_ Four Sound and a J-Boomer, any more? No? Going once, twice, _sold!_ For Four Sound and a Jungle Boomer!"

"A pair of Freestyle Flappers, pair of Flappers, right here! Let's start the bidding at five Sound, five Sound for the wings, _six!_ Six Sound for the Flappers, _make that seven! Eight!_ Eight and a Shrew Gazer! Eight and a Gazer, going once, twice, _sold!"_

The Composer ignored the bidding war. Instead, she was focused on a pair standing just outside the chaos. One was a mature, elegant woman wearing a greek toga, with long sleeves and skirt, and an opera-style domino mask.

The other was a girl wearing a Victorian doll dress and a blank, porcelain mask.

"So..." The girl asked hesitantly as she watched the Reapers, "They're trading... paint cans?"

The woman in the dress nodded, an amused smile on her face. "Yes, they are. It's a common enough occurrence. Cans are reusable once the Composer refills them, but we have our fun using them as a form of... makeshift currency. There's all sorts of uses: we trade them for favors, use them to pay off debts, bet them, so on and so forth."

"Oh... and... the names? Sound? Jungle... Banger?"

"Boomer. The name signifies what the can contains. Some cans have something...special… which in turn is labeled with a name to help Reaper's know what they are handling. Sound signifies a more common type of paint that's used."

"You mean the one that shifts and moves?"

"Exactly! You see, all Reaper paints, be it Sound or otherwise, are somewhat... alive to to speak. They responds to our whims, our feelings, taking on the forms we direct them to. As a Reaper learns, they can better express themselves and in turn their creations become more... _exotic_ I suppose you can say. The more in touch with themselves, the better the paint reacts. A Reaper must _believe_ and _feel_ what they want to paint, and if they do, the paint reacts appropriately."

"They also..." The Composer intoned darkly, drawing attention to herself. "Need to check with me first before using some of the more advanced paint cans. Just in case. You know, _a precaution."_

The toga-wearing woman swallowed heavily, plastering a nervous grin on her face, "C-Composer! What a wonderful surprise!" She gestured at the nervous girl standing next to her, "I-I'd like to introduce-"

"Parian. I know."

"Oh! S-so you've already met?"

"I've heard of her. But what I _haven't_ heard was that we would be having guests. But then again, this is the Gallery. We always have new faces showing up unexpectedly. I might be getting old or something, because I could _swear_ that there was _something_ concerning that, but again, it just might be me."

The temperature had dropped several degrees during the conversation, and the domino-masked women was visibly trying to compose herself while her eyes darted away from the Composer's piercing gaze.

Eventually it ended, as the Composer looked and nodded at Parian.

"Either way, welcome to the Gallery. Feel free to have a look around, and enjoy some of our work. I happen to know that a lot of us happen to admire your own creations. Just have your friend show you around, and she'll make sure you have a fun time. But please, be discreet with whatever information she passes to you? Trade secrets and all that."

She turned away, and started back to the door before pausing and looking back.

"Oh, Chanson! That reminds me. Southern wanted me to pass on a message to you: there was an... _issue_ with the cans you asked from him. They'll be a bit late, but I'm sure you can make do, hmm?"

Chanson visibly deflated, even as she nodded morosely, "Y-yes. That's fine."

"Good. Now then, if you'll excuse me..." The Composer walked through the doors, heading for the main stage.

Parian looked worriedly at her friend. "Um, Cla-?"

"Please, call me Chanson. Codenames help us keep our Reaper selves and casual selves separate."

"R-right. Chanson. What was that all about? She sounded…mad."

The woman sighed tiredly, running a hand over her face. "The Composer doesn't _get_ mad. She gets... disappointed, which, in a way, is worse. You see... I may or may not have broken a few rules bringing you here. I just wanted to impress you a bit, show you what we _do_ , which is all perfectly fine... so long as we clear it with a senior Reaper first. And now, because of my misstep, it looks like I'll be running short on paints for awhile..."

Parian swallowed heavily. "O-oh my. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you any trouble!"

Chanson laughed sadly, shaking her head, "Oh don't be. It was my fault. And besides..." A mischievous grin played over her face, "If I can't get paint from the usual providers..." She fished a heavily detailed can from the folds of her dress, "I'll just have to search elsewhere!" She held the can above her head, displaying it for all to see.

"A Classi Corehog going for ten Sound!"

And thus the bidding war commenced.

The Composer grumbled under as she walked through the door. She could feel the beginnings of a migraine forming, and what she saw before her only accentuated that feeling.

The main storage area of the Gallery featured a large, circular stage that jutted above the crowd. Arrays of lights and speakers hung from the ceiling like metal and plastic stalactites mixed in with the old rails for helping move the statues that would come in to the Gallery when it was still an actual art gallery, before the state of affairs in Brockton Bay took a nose-dive. The capabilities for flight really simplified installing electronics at high altitudes.

A good chunk of the Reapers were surrounding the stage, eagerly watching the spectacle going on before them.

Namely, two Reapers facing off on the stage.

On one side was Gangsta, in all her indignant, teenage glory.

And on the other side was a massive bear of a man. He was wearing an old, beat up pair of coveralls, with oil stains and singes. The toolbelt that was strung diagonally across his chest and around his waist was laden with a myriad of paint cans. His mouth was covered by a bandana, his eyes hidden behind a pair of welding goggles, and his head covered by an engineer's cap.

The Composer groaned, running her hand over her face, "Damn it, Grunge!" She muttered to herself.

The two Reapers were carrying out a heated argument.

"Are you even _listening_ to me, you little punk!?" Grunge demanded. "I'm telling you that we _have_ to back down! We can't keep doing this!"

"Or _what?"_ Gangsta asked mockingly, splaying her arms wide, "Your buddies in the PRT are going to throw a hissy fit?"

"Yeah! Them, _and_ Bakuda, _and_ the rest of the ABB!" Grunge growled in frustration, starting to walk around the border of the platform, "You just don't understand! These guys, they aren't some sort of joke! I was _on duty_ when Bakuda triggered, I was _there_ when she blew up a whole wing of her university! You haven't heard her ranting like a loon! Her temper is about as hair-trigger and violent as one of her own bombs, and it's only gotten worse! It's only a matter of time before she takes it out on us!"

"Then let her!" Gangsta growled. All of a sudden, her back lit up in light and static. She zipped up to Grunge, hovering so that she was eye to eye with him on her wings. _"Let_ her get pissed! Let her get mad! We can take it! She won't even be able to _touch_ us! We've gotten a strong start, why the hell should we stop?!"

The grease-stained man growled as he held up a finger, "Because we got freaking lucky! The fact that you managed to take down Lung was a miracle, possible only because Armsmaster _saved_ your sorry asses! That monster survived Kyushu of all things, he fought Leviathan, _Leviathan_ to a stand-still! We got lucky because we bounced him across the neighbourhood for twenty minutes before Army showed his chrome-dome ass and stuck him. If he hadn't you'd all be deep-fried and crispy by a twenty-foot metal plated freak!"

Aisha scoffed, flapping a foot away from him as she crossed her arms, "First time Army's ever been good for something. And meanwhile, the PRT sits on their asses and twiddles their thumbs. No surprise there."

Grunge stiffened visibly, his stance becoming _very_ aggressive, "Repeat that." He demanded quietly.

Gangsta leaned in closer to him, "You heard me."

In a moment, Grunge's arms lit up with light and static, morphing into a powerful pair of bony bear arms. Simultaneously, his back lit up as well. Beneath his feet, a pair of stylized bear-skull logos materialized on the stage floor. A flash of static later and he was flanked by a scowling pair of the bone-grey, skeleton-armed bears commonly known as Circle Pit Grizzlies.

Grunge shook with fury as he stared at the girl. "Take. That. Back."

Gangsta flew in until she was nose-to-nose with the man. _"Make me."_

Grunge's claws clenched violently, the Grizzlies next to him drawing back their hackles as they growled predatorily. _"Gladly."_

But before they could come to blows...

"Hey Grunge!"

The two Reapers snapped their heads towards the sound of the voice.

"Bo-MMPH!?" That was all the bear-like man could get out before a light-pink jellyfish with blue tentacles slapped into his face, wrapping its tentacles around his head. He stumbled backwards, his flailing arms clipping his ursine posse as they tried to help him and sending them reeling.

The Composer dusted her hands off as she climbed onto the stage. _"That's_ for wasting a can of Patchy."

Gangsta had fallen from the air, too occupied with laughing to uproariously to keep aloft."HAHAHA! A J-J-JELLY S-S-SWECHNO! IN HIS F-FACE! HAHAHAHAAAAA!" She flipped on her stomach and pounded on the stage helplessly.

Finally, Grunge managed to get a grip on the jellyfish, ripping the aquatic Noise off his face and crushing it into static. He gasped for air as he stared at the Composer. "B-B-Boss!"

"Hello Grunge," She greeted in a cordial tone that masked an underlying hint of menace. "Tell me... when I called a recital to discuss what occurred yesterday, what were the _exact_ thoughts that ran through your head when you decided it would be a good idea to start a fight, hmm?"

The large Reaper swallowed heavily before casting a glare past her at the still cackling Gangsta. "I was thinking something along the lines of teaching a certain snot-nosed rookie why _not_ to insult the guys who face Para-nutjobs for a living, despite the risks it poses."

Aisha's attention was regained almost immediately. "Hey, _screw you_ man, I-!"

The pair were silenced by the Composer's raised hands. "Alright, alright, that's enough. If you want to fight, do it later. For now, we're getting away from tonight's topic: yesterday's events, and what it means for the Reapers. Understood?"

The Reapers both gave a mumbled "Yes Boss." Then Grunge spoke up. "But, for the record... that's what we were talking about."

"I know, I heard." The Composer said in an amused voice. "But if we're going to be debating... let's do it with a larger audience, shall we?" And with that, she tapped a button on her headset. A second later, a sharp crackle of static came over the speakers, not just hanging above her, but set up throughout the Gallery as well. A small gift courtesy of DJs Chiptune and Synth. She spoke into her headset, and her voice was repeated throughout the building. "Attention everyone: put down what you're doing and come to the stage. It's time for the main event!"

The sound of stomping feet and opening doors rang throughout the Gallery as Reapers streamed into the hall. Some materialized wings af flew up to observe from the eaves, while others like Hip and Hop climbed on the shoulders of others. More than a few mutterings and ran throughout the crowd and no less than half a dozen cans exchanged hands before the crowd finally settled.

The Composer just watched silently, arms crossed in front of her and waiting as the flood of persons coming in slowed to a trickle, and eventually ended as the doors closed. She noted with interest that Parian and Chanson were present, watching at the back of the crowd. With a nod, she fingered her mic again and stepped up to the front of the stage.

"Alright folks..." she said as she started to pace back and forth. "...most of you probably already heard about what happened last night and why. Canton got a visit from some recruiters, and turned them down thanks to him having a few friends along. Now, it's a fact. Hell, it's a freaking _creed_ we've taken up that we look out for our own. And having the ABB just walk up and try to take one us? Well, that doesn't roll. So Gangsta, in true Reaper spirit, decided to do as we typically do and make a message. We got together, went out, had fun, and painted our words like we always do."

She stopped for a moment, looking out over the silent crowd before continuing. "Then things went south. Apparently Lung was gathering guns for an attack on some kids. And there came the problem: We Reapers haven't fought the gangs. Not ever, not in a way that matters. We'll stick up for ourselves, not back down when some punk tries to mess with us because he has fresh colors and feels larger than life. But we haven't done anything to challenge them. It's how we have survived like we have. We're artists, free thinkers. Those that don't want to fit in a box, or who didn't feel like living in the mold of society or the gangs. There are some who couldn't even if they wanted to here. We lay low, keep separate. What we do is try to spread our word, our belief through our _actions_ instead of what we _say._ We are _Reapers. We won't be handed our freedom, we'll reap it for ourselves._ Do you know what that _means?"_

The silence was deafening.

Finally, Grunge spoke up. "We won't accept whatever fate is decided for us by anyone else." He rumbled.

Gangsta nodded in solemn agreement. "We carve our own path in life, and we paint it and decorate it and walk it as we see fit."

The Composer nodded. "Yes. _Our_ freedom. Not the freedom given to us by other people. Not the people who say one thing is right and one thing is wrong, not by the gangs or anyone. _Our freedom._ Not any one elses. But we also have a second goal!" She crossed her arms definitively. "Our goal is to protect, not just our freedom, but that of anyone else that finds they don't have it. Reapers will reap, not just for themselves but for others. It doesn't show, but it's there. In or out, normal or not, we will do our best to help someone who needs it. Alot of us didn't even start out as artists, or taggers, or dancers or musicians or whatever else. They started out as someone who didn't have much of anything, someone who felt like they were missing _something,_ but didn't know _what_. Until a _single_ Reaper came along, and showed them the little ways they could _discover_ what they never had, _truly_ had _."_

"As such, we got some of the best humans imaginable here all in one room. All ages, genders, races, and everything else anyone has ever been labeled with. We got people who used to be rancher's till they lost the farm, fishermen till they lost their boats, mechanics and everything from every single walk of life. We have brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, and those that don't have any of that anymore, or never truly did. We made more than a gang, a group, or a movement. We made a family. People who will stick up for each other no matter what, and will stick out their necks for someone they don't know just because it's the _right thing to do. That_ is what the Reapers stand for. As such, it was why we decided to face Lung, face him and his men, and _defend_ those that he threatened. Didn't matter afterwards that they were a gang of teenage parahumans. They had never wronged us, but still. We stuck out our necks for them, because it was the _right thing to do,_ because they had the right to live, just as much as you or I."

"And now..." She spread her arms out wide. "We all stand at a crossroads. We stood up. We weren't a mash-up patchwork bunch of artists anymore. We stood up, and we _became a threat._ So now we have to make a choice. What do we do? Our strength was our invisibility. We looked weak, we acted it. We would run rather than fight. So everyone didn't pay us mind. To the gangs, we were just a thorn. Sure, we were annoying, but we were small enough to not be worth removing. To the PRT, we weren't a gang. We were just vandals, unruly teenagers at best with some loose organization. Not worth the manpower to stamp out. To the public, we weren't much better then the gangs. Just another bunch of thugs waiting to happen. But this won't be the case for much longer…"

"So here and now, we discuss our future. Do we step past that boundary, push further? Push harder? Or do we lay low? Do we make this a unique occurrence, and let this storm blow over? Talk is that what isn't caged up of Lung's gang is going to gun for us. Going to gun for anyone that calls themselves a Reaper and isn't going to really care who they hurt in the process. Talk is, the Empire is looking at things now like a buffet, waiting for the chance to pounce and tear the city up for their little doctrine. PRT is looking at us like a new gang, and is gearing up to take us down if we make a move. Hell if I know what everyone else is thinking, or if they even _are_ thinking. So now we choose. We step up? It's war. We step down? Can we live with ourselves? It'll be the classic saying of running away to fight another day, but will it? That is the question."

The Composer gestured back at Gangsta and Grunge. "These two have their own arguments on the matter. Grunge is a senior, He has been with me since the beginning, despite his ties with the PRT, despite the risk posed to him. His loyalty is unquestionable. Gangsta, on the other hand, is new, but she has shown zeal and drive beyond herself, showing a dedication to what we stand for that rivals even my own. Will any others choose to step up and speak their mind?"

Silence reigned over the crowd. Then...

"I will."

The Composer turned and watched as South climbed up onto the stage, his Stetson firmly on his head and his face obscured by a cowboy bandana. He nodded at her. "Might as well speak my part, whatever it may be."

The Composer nodded right back. "Southern, who's been here almost as long as Grunge, and provided shelter and support for our own with his bar. A helping hand and an ever-ready ear. All around, a good friend."

Mutters of agreement ran throughout the crowd, until finally...

"Ah screw it." A red-hooded Reaper sighed tiredly as he climbed on the stage. "Suppose there's no reason _not_ to."

The original Reaper nodded at him as well. "Chicago Blues. Silent and quiet, but ever vigilant. Always with his ear to the ground, and always with the right piece of information. The voice of the masses."

The Composer moved to the back of the stage, even as she picked up a spare mic from a stool and tossed it towards Southern.

"Either way, good or bad, we sort this tonight. We don't have the luxury of time or resources. We have what we have here tonight, and what each and every one of you can bring to the table."

The four Reapers on stage nodded, and the Composer stepped off the stage, moving to take a seat to the rear of the room, near the back of the of the crowd with Chanson and Parian.

She nodded at the two as she sat down. "So, enjoying your time?" She asked the Parahuman.

The seamstress nodded shyly. "Y-yes ma'am. I really liked your speech. It was... motivational."

The Composer waved her hand dismissively. "Please, 'ma'am' is what they call Piggot in the PRT. Just call me Composer."

"A-alright..." Parian trailed off uncertainly.

The Composer gave her a searching look. "Do you have something you want to ask? Don't be afraid, I won't bite." She smiled teasingly beneath her mask. "I've got my Noise for that."

Parian must have picked up on her tone because she giggled shyly. "W-well... shouldn't you still be back up on stage?"

The Reaper shook her head in denial. "No matter what anyone else says, I don't lead the Reapers. We lead ourselves. Whatever path we choose tonight..."

She pointed up at the stage.

"Will be outlined by them. From there... well now, we'll just have to wait see, won't we?"


	6. Sonata 5

**Sonata 5**

 **-o-**

Armsmaster grumbled into the paint mask venomously as he scrubbed furiously at his helmet with a steel wool brush, trying futilely to remove the neon orange color with the newest concoction of chemicals he had devised as he wore down his gloved fingers to the bone. It was _supposed_ _to be so_ utterly caustic to paint that it was also highly hazardous to breathe in for even a moment.

The end result was a lot of effort for nothing as the paint stayed vibrant, his fingers ached. At this rate, the brush was going to wear down before anything else did.

"Have you tried sulfuric acid?" Dragon asked in contained amusement from the screen she was watching from.

"And hydrochloric, and nitric, and phosphoric, and citric..."

"Wait, isn't that last one lemon juice?"

Armsmaster slammed the piece of equipment on the workbench, tossing the chemical-stained gloves and brush into the waste bin before ripping the mask off his face as he walked towards his desk, "At this point, I'm willing to try anything! They managed to deface the PRT HQ, circumvent the Wards, even _turn one into a fan!_ And now they're escalating!"

Dragon frowned as she watched her comrades' agitation, "Are you really sure it's all that bad? I know they are part of the reason Lung was defeated, but seeing how the interrogation of his still conscious underlings revealed that the Reapers attacked due to overhearing them planning on assaulting the Undersiders, can't we lighten up a bit?"

Armsmaster took a moment to breath deeply before turning to type on a keyboard, "We could, if it weren't for the latest information gathered on them." He brought up several photographs, each highlighting different tattoo-animal hybrids and tattoo-enhanced Reapers as he leaned back and massaged his temples with a free hand.

"We knew that they were capable in part of some yet unknown method provided to them by the Composer to use paint as a tool. The most common we've seen are the wings or legs that many Reapers have been using to give themselves enhanced mobility. But at the fight, I documented and confirmed that they have been withholding a _massive_ amount of potential uses that changes how they must be handled. And there's more. Look," He brought up a picture of one of the few known Reapers jumping into the air, "This is Gangsta a week ago. As you can see, when she creates her wings, The tattoo's and imagery on her shoulders and arms light up. But look at this..."

He brought up another image, this time showing Gangsta kneeling on the ground surrounded by a bird logo, "This was Gangsta _last night._ Do you see? Her tattoos. They've _grown_. Whatever the Composer initially did to her, she, and it is a she, I can confirm that, expanded on them. Enhanced them, from producing wings to _this!"_ He brought up several images of the raven-esque giant.

"And that is merely the most outstanding. There is evidence that all of the Reapers are capable of this on some level with what we recovered from studying the injuries to the ABB, ranging from broken bones to claw marks and even cases of paralysis from some form of toxin similar to certain species of jellyfish at the scene. Whatever she is doing to or _with_ the Reapers to give them these abilities, what happens if she continues? Makes _more_ of them? She could be like Teacher all over again, only far more destructive if our initial theories prove correct."

"Whatever it is, she is equipping or somehow granting limited abilities based on her own. And in the end we'll have a potential _army_ of augmented humans on our hands, _bordering_ Parahuman and still no real understanding of how any of it works without studying the source. Just that it involves this paint they call 'Noise' that we are still _unable to understand at all!"_

The Tinker gnashed his teeth and threw a hand up in the direction of his defaced armor, and the few scarce scrapings of paint he had managed to get into vials.

"To say nothing about the Director's concern about a potential Master factor involved with whatever process seems to give them these abilities. What if-"

He was interrupted by the door to his lab being nearly swung off it's hinges, only to hiss to a stop scant inches from slamming into the wall as the safeties in the hinges caught it.

"Hey Army!" Assault chuckled as he strode into the workshop, "I knew you would be in here! Geeze, I already told you, didn't I? Drinks. On me. At Fugly's! Come on, you're supposed to be the super genius, what's so hard to remember about that?"

Armsmaster growled as he slowly looked over his shoulder and glared at his teammate, "Swear to god I am going to use the absolute limit of acceptable force when I find the Reaper that came up with that stupid nickname... I already told you I don't have time for drinks, I'm working."

"Clearly!" Assault's smirk was easily visible as he examined the defaced helmet, "Man, credit where it's due, those Reapers have a fine sense of style! You should keep it that way! Oh! Or maybe you could ask the Reapers to make the rest of your armor-!"

*SMACK!*

"OUCH!"

Assault yelped in pain when a green blur zipped up behind him and slapped him upside the head.

"Will you stop antagonizing him?" Battery demanded impatiently, "It's clear he feels bad enough already."

Assault pouted at his wife, "But puppy-OW!"

"And stop calling me that!"

"Not what you were saying last ni-YEARGH! Stop doing that!"

Battery sighed exasperatedly as she shook her head in despair, "Sorry about him, Armsmaster. I tried to stop him, but-"

"Hey, cool!" Before either could react, the boisterous hero had dashed up to Armsmaster and was appreciatively examining what was on the screen over his shoulder, "Look at this! I love Reaper art! Man, this stuff is sweet!"

Armsmaster glared angrily at Assault, "These are evidence, not art. They're helping me estimate the threat posed by the Reapers."

Battery hung her head miserably, "I'm with you there. These things are more nuisance than artwork. But..." She gave the Tinker an uneasy look, "Threat? I'll admit, the Reapers are annoying as hell, but that's all they are. I doubt they're actually willing to cause any _real_ damage."

"Well personally..."

All the heads present turned in surprise and watched as Miss Militia entered the lab, followed by Dauntless and Velocity, who was listening to music on a pair of headphones.

"I find their art and their purpose to be inspiring." She finished.

Armsmaster stared at her bemusedly for a moment before sighing and running his hand over his face, "Alright, I've been doing my best to understand sentiments and such better, but could you explain the logic behind that to me please?"

Miss Militia crossed her arms definitively, "When I came to America, the best parts of this nation that I came to love and cherish were freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion... the defining part of the United States is the promised freedom. The Reapers advocate freedom on a daily basis, and from what the ABB we have down in interrogation are saying, the Reapers attacked them because they weren't about to allow Lung to take away someone else's freedom. In my honest opinion, that's truly admirable."

Assault whooped gleefully, darting up to her and sticking his hand out, "Yeah! Fight the system! Up high!"

Miss Militia gave him a bemused look before half-heartedly high-fiving him.

Armsmaster sighed tiredly before turning to look at Dauntless, "And what about you?"

The up and coming hero held his hands up in surrender, taking a step back, "Hey, hey, hey, I'm not a part of this. I just do what you and the Director tell me. These guys become a menace, we fight them. They turn out to be nice, great! But when it comes to art, I can't tell violet from indigo, so it's a moot point to me."

"And you, Velocity?"

The speedster ignored him, instead bobbing his head in time to the music he was listening to.

"Velocity!"

The man jerked in surprise. He scrambled with his headphones for a second before jerking them down to hang around his neck. The sound of music filtered through them and into the surrounding air, "What?"

"Your opinion on the Reapers?" Miss Militia prompted.

Velocity hesitated for a second before plastering a hasty grin on his face. "U-uh, right! Scoundrels! The lot of them! Lock 'em up and throw away the key I say, right Armsmaster?"

The Tinker frowned as he concentrated intently on something.

"A-Armsmaster?"

Finally, he reacted, his frown turning into a scowl.

"Velocity..." He asked darkly.

"Y-yeah?"

"Please explain to me..." He continued in a menacing tone, "Why exactly you're listening to _DJ Synth's dubstep?"_

Velocity paled dramatically, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish, "Um... well... I-you see-!" He sped off in a blur of red before anyone could react.

Armsmaster groaned in fatigue, choosing to massage his face with his hands rather than say anything. Slowly, he rotated his chair and look up pleadingly at Dragon, who had been silent the entire time, "Et tu, Dragon?"

The Canadian woman on the computer screen glanced back and forth for a second before giving a sheepish grin, "I find their work to be... aesthetically pleasing?"

BANG!

The heroes jumped in surprise when Armsmaster slammed his forehead into the keyboard before him.

"Assault." He groaned, "I changed my mind. I need alcohol. Otherwise I'm going to snap and burn this place to the ground..."

The villain turned hero howled with laughter.

However before the any further ribbing could occur, Armsmaster's console beeped at him, causing the stressed hero to perk up even as he reached for the keyboard. Miss Militia, on the other hand, looked inquisitively at the screens, as a small corner in one flashed.

"What's that?"

The tinker grunted, even as he typed away and brought up a new window in the main monitor, "It's an alert I've setup for whenever something concerning the Reapers that requires attention comes up. Someone's livestreaming a Reaper event in progress. It's tagged for other Reapers, but I've been trying to crack their networking with some success."

"So do you have any idea where they're broadcasting from?"

He scowled angrily as he started typing faster, "No. They've somehow found a way to bounce the signal around enough that it's a digital Gordian knot, and one I can't cut at that. The best we can do is watch."

"Oh hell yeah!" Assault cheered, "Screw Fugly Bob's, I'm going to grab some popcorn from the rec room! Movie night! Someone want to invite the Wards?"

Dragon, however, intervened as her concerned tone cut off the cape from running out of the room, "I'm getting the same broadcast, and I can say that this doesn't look like entertainment. This looks….serious."

"Serious from the Reapers?" Assault's grin went from mischievous to hungry, "Now I _have_ to see this."

The hero's gathered around the screen, as the video started. On it, they could see the Composer on a stage in a dark room, illuminated by stage lights with Gangsta off to one side and another Reaper to the other.

Armsmaster pointed out the second Reaper, "I recognize him. He finished the work a Reaper was doing on the PRT Headquarters when Miss Militia stopped her. The radio broadcast the other day identifies him as 'Grunge' if I remember correctly."

 _"Alright folks..."_ She said as she started to pace back and forth, _"...most of you probably already heard about what happened last night and why. Canton got a visit from some recruiters, and turned them down thanks to him having a few friends along. Now, it's a fact. Hell, it's a freaking creed we've taken up that we look out for our own. And having the ABB just walk up and try to take one us? Well, that doesn't roll. So Gangsta, in true Reaper spirit, decided to do as we typically do and make a message. We got together, went out, had fun, and painted our words like we always do."_

Dauntless whistled appreciatively, "Wow. That's loyalty for you, I guess."

She stopped for a moment, looking out over the silent crowd before continuing, _"Then things went south. Apparently Lung was gathering guns for an attack on some kids. And there came the problem: We Reapers haven't fought the gangs. Not ever, not in a way that matters. We'll stick up for ourselves, not back down when some punk tries to mess with us because he has fresh colors and feels larger than life."_

"So basically when they painted your ride puke-green it was because...?"

"Shut up, Assault."

 _" But we haven't done anything to challenge them. It's how we have survived like we have. We're artists, free thinkers. Those that don't want to fit in a box, or who didn't feel like living in the mould of society or the gangs."_

"Sounds like a bunch of people after my own heart!"

"Assault, I will ask for permission from Director Piggot to use you as target practice, and I have a feeling she will agree."

 _"There are some who couldn't even if they wanted to here. We lay low, keep separate. What we do is try to spread our word, our belief through our actions instead of what we say. We are Reapers. We won't be handed our freedom, we'll reap it for ourselves. Do you know what that means?"_

The silence was deafening. So she went on.

Grunge, from one edge of the screen, spoke up, _"We won't accept whatever fate is decided for us by anyone else."_ The Reaper rumbled.

Gangsta nodded in solemn agreement as she answered from the other half, _"We carve our own path in life, and we paint it and decorate it and walk it as we see fit."_

They continued to watch as the Composer nodded, _"Yes. Our freedom. Not the freedom given to us by other people. Not the people who say one thing is right and one thing is wrong, not by the gangs or anyone. Our freedom. Not anyone elses."_

Miss Militia nodded approvingly even as she turned and smirked triumphantly at Armsmaster from behind her scarf, "Told you."

The Tinker grumbled in acknowledgement.

 _" But we also have a second goal!"_

"Ha!" He exclaimed jabbing his finger at his teammate.

The Composer crossed her arms definitively. _"Our goal is to protect, not just our freedom, but that of anyone else that finds they don't have it. Reapers will reap, not just for themselves but for others. It doesn't show, but it's there. In or out, normal or not, we will do our best to help someone who needs it."_

Miss Militia leaned in close so that she was mere inches away from Armsmaster, "Ha." She stated, a triumphant gleam obvious in her eyes..

"Shush! We're trying to watch!" Was the twin response from Assault and Battery as they glared at the pair angrily, before turning their attention back to the screen. Dauntless merely shook his head, and Armsmaster grumbled as he looked back at the screen as well.

 _"Alot of us didn't even start out as artists, or taggers, or dancers or musicians or whatever else. They started out as someone who didn't have much of anything, someone who felt like they were missing something, but didn't know what. Until a single Reaper came along, and showed them the little ways they could discover what they never had, truly had."_

At this point, Miss Militia's triumphant look was slowly replaced by something else. Distant, sad and contemplative as the speech continued. Even Armsmaster noticed, and for a brief second spared as close to a comforting smile as he could manage for his teammate.

 _"As such, we got some of the best humans imaginable here all in one room. All ages, genders, races, and everything else anyone has ever been labeled with. We got people who used to be rancher's till they lost the farm, fishermen till they lost their boats, mechanics and everything from every single walk of life."_

Battery swallowed heavily, "Wow, the economy wasn't kind, huh?"

Dragon chipped in from her screen, "No, it wasn't. The damages from capes, Endbringers, and so many other factors have had an incredible impact on the world and it's economy. There are many parts that are in far worse situations, but Brockton Bay's is particularly notable due to the amount of Parahuman activity after the coastal shipping in the area ceased and much of economy moved farther inland. Farmland outside the city was unable to find buyers in the local area, and the loss of the docks hit the maritime businesses harder than others." Her frown took on a sad tinge. "It's a shame. Some of these pictures of the ferry are... quite beautiful."

 _"We have brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, and those that don't have any of that anymore, or never truly did. We made more than a gang, a group, or a movement. We made a family. People who will stick up for each other no matter what, and will stick out their necks for someone they don't know just because it's the right thing to do. That is what the Reapers stand for. As such, it was why we decided to face Lung, face him and his men, and defend those that he threatened. Didn't matter afterwards that they were a gang of teenage parahumans. They had never wronged us, but still. We stuck out our necks for them, because it was the right thing to do, because they had the right to live, just as much as you or I."_

The onlookers attention redoubled as the speech's the tone changed, The Composer's stance was becoming something else. Something... aggressive. Something revolutionary and inspiring.

 _"And now..."_ She spread her arms out wide. _"We all stand at a crossroads. We stood up. We weren't a mash-up patchwork bunch of artists anymore. We stood up, and we became a threat. So now we have to make a choice. What do we do? Our strength was our invisibility. We looked weak, we acted it. We would run rather than fight. So everyone didn't pay us mind."_

Armsmaster scowled in frustration, "So she knows how strong they are."

Dauntless gave him a surprised look, "You thought they didn't?"

"I'd hoped. It would have helped make them less threatening. Nothing's more dangerous than a person who knows exactly what they're capable of."

 _"To the gangs, we were just a thorn. Sure, we were annoying, but we were small enough to not be worth removing. To the PRT, we weren't a gang. We were just vandals, unruly teenagers at best with some loose organization. Not worth the manpower to stamp out. To the public, we weren't much better then the gangs. Just another bunch of thugs waiting to happen. But this won't be the case for much longer…"_

Armsmaster was now outright frowning. Something here was setting off his instincts, those engrained senses of something being wrong. But he couldn't place it.

 _"So here and now, we discuss our future. Do we step past that boundary, push further? Push harder? Or do we lay low? Do we make this a unique occurrence, and let this storm blow over? Talk is that what isn't caged up of Lung's gang is going to gun for us. Going to gun for anyone that calls themselves a Reaper and isn't going to really care who they hurt in the process."_

Armsmaster's brow furrowed, "And here I hoped we had a bit more time..."

 _"Talk is, the Empire is looking at things now like a buffet, waiting for the chance to pounce and tear the city up for their little doctrine."_

Assault scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, like that's anything new."

 _"The PRT is looking at us like a new gang, and is gearing up to take us down if we make a move."_

Miss Militia shot Armsmaster a look. "Well _some_ of us are."

The Tinker let the jab slide, "The Director's thinking the same things."

 _"Hell if I know what everyone else is thinking, or if they even are thinking. So now we choose. We step up? It's war. We step down? Can we live with ourselves? It'll be the classic saying of running away to fight another day, but will it? That is the question."_

The Composer gestured back at Gangsta and Grunge, _"These two have their own arguments on the matter. Grunge is a senior, He has been with me since the beginning, despite his ties with the PRT, despite the risk posed to him. His loyalty is unquestionable. Gangsta, on the other hand, is new, but she has shown zeal and drive beyond herself, showing a dedication to what we stand for that rivals even my own. Will any others choose to step up and speak their mind?"_

Everyone in the room stiffened, and Armsmaster was already running a search in a separate screen. The revelation that a Reaper had ties to the PRT was not something that could be easily dismissed.

Silence reigned over the unseen crowd. Then...

 _"I will."_

The Composer turned and watched as a Reaper in cowboy clothes climbed up onto the stage, his Stetson firmly on his head and his face obscured by a cowboy bandana. He nodded at her, _"Might as well speak my part, whatever it may be."_

The Composer nodded right back, _"Southern, who's been here almost as long as Grunge, and provided shelter and support for our own with his bar. A helping hand and an ever-ready ear. All around, a good friend."_

Mutters of agreement ran throughout the crowd, until finally...

 _"Ah screw it."_ A red-hooded Reaper sighed tiredly as he climbed on the stage, _"Suppose there's no reason not to."_

The original Reaper nodded at him as well, _"Chicago Blues. Silent and quiet, but ever vigilant. Always with his ear to the ground, and always with the right piece of information. The voice of the masses."_

The Composer moved to the back of the stage, even as she picked up a spare mic from a stool and tossed it towards Southern.

 _"Either way, good or bad, we sort this tonight. We don't have the luxury of time or resources. We have what we have here tonight, and what each and every one of you can bring to the table."_

There was a silence as they leaned back, Armsmaster especially contemplative. Battery however was the first to speak as the image of the Composer vanished from the screen as she walked off the stage, "What... was that?"

Armsmaster sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his teammate with tired eyes, "That? That was a prelude. An opening to something that could tear Brockton apart unless we do something."

"Too late for that." Assault stated, pointing at the screen, "Get comfy. The show's only just starting."

The gathering continued, despite the Composer being gone, with South stepping up to the front of the stage.

Dauntless blinked in surprise, "Wait, the Composer's gone now, shouldn't this be ending?"

"It appears that this is something akin to a political debate." Dragon answered, "It would seem that despite the Composer being influential in Reaper ideals, she is not their true leader."

Battery raised her eyebrows in surprise, "A Parahuman gang _not_ lead by Parahumans? Is that even done?"

Armsmaster grunted and shrugged a bit, "The Sicilian Mafia at times. They follow the Don's will, and sometimes he names a successor who isn't a parahuman. They last a while without either triggering or taking a bullet to the head."

Silence fell as the cowboy-themed Reaper cleared his throat, _"Alright everyone, let me make something perfectly here: Whether we decide to keep going, or whether we stop here, I couldn't honestly give a damn. Right now, there's just one thing I want: to keep us together. I don't want to see the Reapers split down the middle. I don't want to see any infighting over this issue. What we have here is something unique. Something beautiful. Mark my words, I'll fight tooth and nail to keep it going. And if that means putting you two in the hospital?"_

South's right bicep lit up with a tattoo, followed by the floor glowing with a logo shaped like a pig's snout. Both Gangsta and Grunge flinched back when the logo flashed with static, forming a light purple pig with golden tattoos and massive golden horns. The pig snorted and squealed, pawing at the ground eagerly.

 _"Well..."_ South trailed off, _"You better pray that Panacea is still grateful, am I clear?"_

Dauntless whistled appreciatively as both the Reapers nodded eagerly, "Geeze, why are they so scared of a pig?"

Assault shrugged indifferently, "Eh, it's probably like Battery."

Battery slowly turned her head to stare at her husband in disbelief, "Ex- _cuse me!?"_ She asked slowly, the lines on her suit starting to light up.

Assault's face morphed into an expression of horror as he realized his misstep. He hastily began waving his hands in a panic, "Woahwoahwoahwoah! W-w-what I meant was that it must pack an incredible punch for such a s-small, _slim_ package! That's all! You buy that, right? Slim pack-!"

*SMACK!*

"OOF!" Assault wheezed in pain, doubling over around her fist, "Right in the sweet spot..." He groaned.

"Suck it up." Battery growled, turning back to watch the screen.

Southern nodded definitively, accepting their answers, _"Good. Now, I'm going to step to the back and keep an eye on things. If either of you start getting out of hand, I will sic my Pig Butoh on you. And I'm not going to ask if you understand. You don't need to. It'll just happen."_

Armsmaster had gone to work during the speech, taking a screenshot of the pig and typing in its name.

Miss Militia gave him a disbelieving look, "Really?"

The Tinker shrugged indifferently, "They've got a variety. Best to start compiling a database while we can."

"Plus!" Assault added, having recovered from his wife's wrath, "It'll save Glenn time if the Composer ever gets a change of heart. and decides to join us. He's been salivating ever since the report and urging the Director to recruit her at all costs."

Dauntless gave him a confused look, "How come?"

Miss Militia groaned, running her hand over her face. "The same three words that he tried to use on me when I first came to Brockton Bay."

"And those would be...?"

Miss Militia gave him a flat look, "Collect them all."

Dauntless swallowed heavily, cold sweat running down his neck, "Point taken."

Meanwhile, South had begun walking towards the back of the stage, passing his microphone off to the red-hooded Reaper as he headed towards the front.

Dragon frowned as she looked the Chicago over, "Wait a second..."

"Hm?" Armsmaster glanced up at her screen, "Something wrong?"

"Maybe..." Dragon turned away slightly as she began working on something off-screen, "Let me check something."

The Reaper stood at the front of the stage, holding himself casually. His stance was relaxed and slouched, like he could give a damn about what was going on, _"Yo. For those of you who don't know or who were deaf a few minutes back, I'm Chicago Blues. Honestly, fighting? Running? Neither means much to me. All I care about is the plain old, out and out truth. And that's what I'm here to give you."_

Assault tilted his head in disbelief, "How the hell is he going to do that?"

 _"So!"_ Chicago stated, _"Let me lay down some facts on the Empire Eighty-Eight, resident white supremacist Parahuman gang."_

Battery raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? That's it? Geeze, not very-"

 _"They got a standing membership of about four to five hundred skinheads scattered throughout the city. Alot of you should know their standing Parahumans: Kaiser, Fenja, Menja, Hookwolf, Cricket, Stormtiger, Victor, Othala, Rune, Krieg, Alabaster. Used to be Purity and a few others as well, but she split and took a chunk with her. Kaiser has been disputing with her over something, maybe trying to get her to go back, possibly bringing Night, Fog, and Crusader with her. But word is that whatever it's about, Purity has a hate-on for Kaiser at the current time. E88 equipment varies, and they have plenty of call in's of weaponry from other white supremacy groups. Mainly semi-automatic pistols, but quite possibly more than a few assault rifles as well. Shotguns are also a personal favorite."_

Battery's jaw was hanging open in shock, "Buh-wah?!"

 _"Next, we have the Azn Bad Boys."_ Chicago continued, _"Asian-based Parahuman gang. They got standing ranks of somewhere between two to three hundred soldiers, and that's after what we pulled last night. Plus, they tend to use press-ganging, so we might see a surge soon. For capes, they got some nutjob in not long ago called Bakuda, and Oni Lee. Lung's currently chilling his ass in PRT Lockdown, but considering their track-record, that's little more than a formality. I'd bet a Wooly he'll be out by dinner tomorrow. Especially if word is right that Bakuda has some kind of plan. Seen lots of ABB colors all over town doing something. Nothing near our places yet, but chances are she's rigging some kind of distraction. Their gear's 'bout the same as the E88, though with less out-of-state support."_

Armsmaster growled silently, trying very hard to deny what was being said, hastily tapping out a message to the PRT HQ to redouble their guard on the draconian Parahuman, "How does he know so much?" He demanded, not expecting an answer. He was surprised when he received one.

"Because he checked!"

"Dragon?"

"Look!" Dragon brought up several images on her screen. They were snapshots from traffic cams, each in different parts of gang territory. In each one, an individual was highlighted.

Dauntless narrowed his eyes before blinking in shock, "Is... is that Chicago?"

"Is he a Parahuman?" Miss Militia asked worriedly.

Dragon shook her head in denial, "No. These are all perfectly normal pictures. As far as I can tell, Chicago just happens to be really good at getting around. He's always somewhere, listening in on what he can."

Assault nodded in acknowledgement, "Smart kid. No greater weapon on the street to wield than good intel."

 _"Third..."_ Chicago carried on unabated, _"The Merchants. If you want a membership count, your guess is as good as mine. It's constantly going down with every druggie or meth-head that takes one dose too many or crosses the wrong guy, but it also keeps going up with every poor schmuck that finds peace in a needle or glass pipe. Weaponry is whatever someone can pick up or strap together. Makeshift and low-grade, their strength is just throwing idiots too drugged up to feel pain at a problem. Their capes are Skidmark, Squealer and Mush. Not much on their own, but I've heard they're also making moves towards Trainwreck, so they might be getting an actually legit heavy-hitter soon."_

Battery's eyes widened in surprise, "Trainwreck? I fought him last week, when he tried to rob a jewelry store. He's a legitimate threat. If I hadn't been amped when he hit me..."

Armsmaster nodded, making a note on his computer, "Assault, tomorrow I want you to head out for the Trainyards where he's been hiding out. Remind Trainwreck that joining a gang, the Merchants especially, will _not_ look favorable in the eyes of a judge. Take Triumph with you, it'll help him build experience."

 _"And lastly, in our villainous band of rogues, is Coil."_ Chicago shrugged helplessly, _"Not much I can say on him, the guy runs a tight ship. Somewhere around a hundred or so guys, all pretty much commandos, all packing either military surplus or Tinker-tech. far as I'm aware. Coil seems to be the only cape in the place, if he even is one, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous. The guy's as slippery as a snake, and he's got people everywhere. Fact is, I_ know _that he's been operating on intel he could only get from inside the PRT. Parahuman or not, this guy is serious business."_

Armsmaster was seriously furious now, writing message after message as he worked fervently, "Dragon, could you-?"

"Pulling local files and running checks now. It could take awhile."

"Doesn't matter, so long as sooner or later, I get someone alone in a small brick room with a single lightbulb."

"Well, looks like that's everything..." Dauntless sighed.

Apparently, Chicago disagreed, _"Now, I'd like to touch on the PRT and Protectorate..."_

The heroes tensed simultaneously, breath catching in their throats.

 _"But..."_ The Reaper informant glanced at Grunge, who was glaring at him angrily, _"Unfortunately, if I do, Grunge will ring my neck like a chicken. So yeah. No thank you."_ He tossed the microphone to Grunge's waiting palm, _"I'm done. Peace out."_ He started to walk off the stage, but was grabbed by Southern and dragged back on the stage. He glared at the cowboy for a minute before sighing and standing around casually.

Miss Militia heaved a sigh, placing a hand over her chest in relief, "Thank god..."

Assault chuckled good-naturedly. "Looks like despite being a bit of a rebel, Grunge is still a good guy."

Armsmaster grunted noncommittally, "Maybe. But I still want to get my hands on both him and Blues."

"Yeah, and when you do, you become an idol for the Gay Pride parade and are henceforth banned from all E88 territory for all times."

"Target practice, Assault. Target practice."

Grunge stepped up before the crowd, nodding appreciatively at Chicago, _"Thank you, Chicago, for your discretion."_ He looked back out over the crowd of Reapers. _"Now... you all know me. And I know you. Let me say, here and now, that I love the Reapers. I love being a part of this, love being able to express myself. But I can't forget the PRT either. I can't betray them. They're my friends, my allies, and I can't let them down like that. I was willing to paint HQ because it looked better, but not that."_

Assault chuckled before shrugging at the looks directed at him, "What can I say? I agree. The paintjob is great."

 _"But..."_ Grunge continued, _"What I can tell you about is the PRT reaction. Simply put, they're panicking. What we did? We_ scared _them. They're scared of_ us. _They see_ us _as a threat. And honestly? I don't like that. They got a job to do, trying to keep the city together. It's not right for us to interfere with that. We step up, we make this a war? It's a war they have to deal with. No one want's to admit it, but between the E88, the ABB, the Merchant's and every two-bit thug on the streets, they can barely keep up. Not without cutting off their own legs. They got rules they need to play by, things they need to do. Rules that no one else has to follow but them."_

 _"Oh yeah?"_ Attention was drawn to the younger Reaper, Gangsta, when she spoke up, _"Well news flash, their little rules are lynching the rest of us!"_

The muscle bound Reaper smashed his fist into his other hand, producing an audible thwack to punctuate his point.

 _"Look, Gangsta! The fact of the matter is, there's a balance in this city, between the PRT and the gangs!"_

Armsmaster nodded in agreement, "Glad to see that someone else understands."

 _"WELL I'M FUCKING SICK OF THAT BALANCE!"_

The heroes reeled back in shock from the sudden indignant yell.

Gangsta was shaking, huffing heavily, _"I am sick..."_ She continued, her voice filled with emotion, _"Of how things are. I am fucking sick and fucking tired of always being_ scared _whenever I leave the house. I am sick of wondering if today is the day that I get knocked off because I'm not white, or asian, or because some doped up asshole thinks I got a spare twenty in my pocket. If that's the balance we live with, then I am done living with it. I am_ done _being afraid."_

She turned away from Grunge, addressing the crowd, _"And I am_ done _waiting for it all to end! When the Protectorate was founded, it was so that they could_ protect _the normal people who couldn't protect themselves! Well I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't feel very protected! When was the last time that the PRT or the Protectorate actually_ did _something, something that stuck? When was the last time they took down a stash of drugs, or arrested some skinheads!? Can any of you remember the last time there was a major cape fight they didn't_ respond _to? The last time they actually went out of their way to lock up some asshole who deserved it, and threw away the key?"_

Gangsta looked back at Grunge, her stance obviously furious, _"If it takes a war to change things, then let there be a war! Someone has to fight anyways. Someone has to stick up for the people! The Protectorate isn't doing it. The PRT isn't doing it. And the normal people can't. Everyone else is either not willing to take a stand, or doesn't have the strength. Well, I want to fight, and I_ know _I can kick some serious ass, so why not make it me?"_ She spread her arms out wide, indicating everyone present. _"Why not make it us?!"_

Grunge was silent, staring at her throughout her tirade. Finally, he made a statement, _"Because we could die."_

 _"I know it's risky, damn it!"_ Gangsta shot back instantly, _"You think I_ don't _know that!? There's every chance that we could bite the big one if we fight. But honestly? If we die, then we die. That's that. We died fighting for what we believed in. And if we_ don't _fight... then we'll sit back, and watch as Bakuda and Kaiser and Skidmark and everyone in between rip this city and everyone in it to pieces for their own means."_ She slowly shook her head in denial, _"I can't live with that. I_ refuse _to live with the possibility that one day, I could come home and find out that my brother was killed in a cape fight or caught in a bomb blast or-or-or_ something!" She trailed off, tears starting to become evident in her voice, _"Something... that I... could have stopped..."_

Gangsta spread her arms out, begging, _pleading_ , _"Please, Grunge. There's no one else. We need to do this. Because if we don't... then who will?"_

Silence reigned. Reaper stared at Reaper. Grunge watched Gangsta. Raven watched bear.

Finally, Grunge turned to look out over the crowd, _"And what about the rest of you?"_ He called out, _"Are you all willing to fight? Are you all ready to risk it all so that things can get better, even if it's just a bit? Are you ready to lay your lives on the line?"_

At first there was no response. All the Reapers stared back at him silently.

Armsmaster sighed, shaking his head, "They won't do it. It's a nice dream on paper, but no one would actually be stupid enough to do it for real."

 _"Hell yeah!"_

The Tinker snapped his head up, staring in shock, "Wait, what!?"

It was Hip, standing on the shoulders of a Reaper. _"I'm ready to kick some ass and take this city back!"_

 _"Gangsta's right!"_ Hop agreed, jumping up as well, _"This is_ our _home, those bastards don't have any right to rule it!"_

 _"I'm in!"_

 _"Me too!"_

 _"You can count me in for sure!"_

One after another after another, Reapers were throwing in their two cents, heartily agreeing to what was being said, until it was a veritable frenzy of enthusiasm and eagerness.

"You were saying?" Miss Militia asked, her voice subdued by awe.

All Armsmaster could do was stare in shock at the uprising playing out before him.

Grunge slowly swept his head back and forth, watching the crowd.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw South shaking violently with laughter as he doubled over and slapped his knee while Chicago just stood around casually. But, as laid back as he might have been, nothing could mask the feral grin beneath his hood.

At long last, he held his hands up high and raised his voice. _"Alright, ENOUGH!"_

The Reapers fell silent, subdued by his powerful shout.

Grunge breathed heavily for a moment, turning to look at Gangsta...

Before sighing and nodding his head.

 _"Looks like we're going to fight."_

The resulting cheers were deafening as they filled Armsmaster's lab.

Suddenly, the camera moved, turning around to show a pair of Reapers wearing high-tech visors and headphones.

 _"Well,"_ one of them said, _"Hope you all enjoyed the show, because that's all you're going to get."_

 _"Yup!"_ His partner agreed, _"Tune in tomorrow at nine for the Reaper Review! This is DJ Synth!"_

 _"And Chiptune!"_

 _"Signing off!"_ They chorused simultaneously. The feed flashed to a static-y image of a winged skull before fading to black.

Armsmaster typed for a minute or so before sighing and shaking his head, "Lost 'em. Damn."

Silence reigned over the lab as the heroes stared at the blank screen.

It was Dauntless who filled the silence, "So... now what?"

"Now?" Armsmaster snorted, typing faster at his keyboard, "Now we prepare. I'm sending a copy of the footage to the Director. Miss Militia, you'll help me with threat assessment. Battery, go and gather the Wards, run them through drills until sunrise. And Assault-Assault?" Armsmaster turned and stared in surprise as the red-clad hero walked out of the lab, "Assault, where do you think you're going?"

The man stopped, "Out on patrol."

"Why?" The Tinker asked in confusion. "We don't know where that broadcast was from, you won't be able to catch them."

For a moment, Assault did nothing. Then...

He turned and gave them all a sad smile, "To make them liars."

And with that, he continued walking.

The lab was frozen, everyone unsure of what to do.

Until finally...

"Ah screw it. Hey Assault, wait up!" Dauntless dashed out of the lab after him.

Battery glanced at Miss Militia, unsure what to do. When the other female hero smiled beneath her mask and nodded, she shot her a grateful grin before dashing out of the room.

Silence anew.

Armsmaster and Miss Militia stared at each other quietly, contemplatively.

Then, Miss Militia laid her hand on the Tinker's shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and walked out of the room.

Slowly, Armsmaster turned his seat around and stared up at Dragon's screen.

The Canadian woman bit her lip for a second, glancing back and forth uneasily, "I... do have a suit near Brockton Bay. It has been awhile since I last checked in... but I can put it on autopilot of course!" She amended hastily.

Armsmaster sighed, waving his hand dismissively, "No, no. Go ahead. Don't let me keep you."

Dragon hesitated for a moment before nodding, "Well... alright then. Goodbye, Colin."

And with that, the screen shut off.

Armsmaster leaned back in his seat, staring at the data streaming across the screens.

It was a novel sensation, but for once... he didn't feel like working.

He could go out, but...

He glanced at his helmet.

His neon orange helmet.

Seconds ticked by, and then...

"Fuck it."

He rose from his chair, picked the garish headgear up, and snapped it over his armor.

Armsmaster stomped out of his lab, already remotely ordering the armory to have his halberd ready.

"Might as well get this over with."


	7. Sonata 6

**Sonata 6**

The Composer flashed a thumbs-up up at the DJ duo in the rafters as she made her way through the thriving masses, grateful for their hard work.

 _'Well, the message is out and the choice is made.'_ She thought definitively, _'Now it's time to wrap it up.'_

The Composer worked her way up to the stage. As she started to work her way up, A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and helped her up. Looking up, she nodded thankfully at Grunge. The massive Reaper rolled his eyes in response, but a grin was clear through his mask.

Standing up on the stage, she slowly turned her head and took in everyone.

Parian was still on her feet at the back of the throng, applauding vigorously alongside Chanson.

Hip and Hop weren't so much crowd 'surfing' as they were crowd 'hopping', jumping from shoulder to shoulder gleefully like a pair of mad rabbits.

DJ Chiptune and DJ Synth were fiddling at their sound boards, expertly controlling the dizzying array of entertainment systems to pump the celebration to its maximum as lights flashed and music started to pump, turning the room into a technicolor thrum of sound and movement as Reapers talked and mingled and yelled and cheered, the polar opposite of the silent audience just moments before.

Southern tipped his hat at the person he called his boss, nodding proudly.

Chicago Blues simply brought his arm up and gave a lazy salute, a lax grin on his face.

And Gangsta...

The Composer walked right up to the youngest Reaper, standing before her and staring down at her.

Gangsta swallowed heavily, running her hand over her beanie. "S-s-so... what'd you think, boss? Did you li-?!"

The Composer interrupted her by clapping her hands on her shoulders, "You did good, Gangsta," She stated proudly. "You did good."

The teenage girl perked up almost instantly. "Seriously!?" She pumped her fists triumphantly. "HELL YEAH! WOO! HAHAHA!" Her wings materialized in a flash and she began zipping around the room like a deranged hummingbird.

Grunge huffed petulantly, crossing his arms, "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Damn brat..."

ZIP!

"GYAH!" Grunge brought his hands up reactively when the ballistic Reaper buzzed him. Feeling something wet on him, he looked his arms over. He blinked in surprise before groaning in frustration. "Oh, yeah, right!" He held his arms up, displaying the twin middle fingers spraypainted on them. " _Real_ mature!"

The girl just cackled as she took to weaving in and out and among the rafters, slipping between the old rails, bits of chain, and lights and electronics that were housed there.

The Composer allowed herself a moment to let the persona drop and smiled, shifting back into Taylor for a moment as a pair of perching Reapers squawked and dove to the side to make room for the giddy pre-teen and thought to herself in an amused tone. _"Aisha...don't you dare change. Not ever."_ She took a moment to breath in, and adjusted the mask over her face. The feel of the paint, held solid beneath her fingers thanks to her power was comforting.

That done she let out her breath, and slipped back to her other self. Back into the Composer. As it was, she didn't have long before the stage itself would be taken by the crowd. Something she had come to intimately know early on as the Reapers grew was that with a propensity towards creativity came a proclivity to follow the old adage about hard work.

That being, gathering Reapers in one place with easy access to music, lights, and a stage tended to evolve into a party. She could already see select Reapers hitting a row of lockers to the side and pulling out instrument cases. She gave herself maybe fifteen minutes before the stage would be confiscated for an impromptu show. There was even another group moving through the milling mass gathering up and counting dollar bills and writing down on scraps of paper, likely funds to pay for a snack run. The Gallery was in full-on celebration mode.

However, before things could truly get into swing, she brought her hands up and hit her mic, drawing attention to herself. "Alright, alright. Now, I know that this is a time for celebrations, but before we do, there's just _one_ thing we have to do first."

The milling crowd stopped as they turned towards her, and the music lowered to a dull roar. She gestured with her finger at the DJs in the rafters, indicating them to redirect the spotlights. The salvaged lights purred on well-oiled bearings, turning themselves around to illuminate a part of the crowd.

To illuminate Parian.

The Composer smiled beneath her mask. "We have to extend a formal invitation to our newest prospective member."

The other Reapers instantly cheered their approval.

Parian, on the other hand, was frozen where she stood. "Wait, wha-WOAH!" Before she could react, the crowd surged around her, pushing her towards the stage while Chanson followed close by, gracefully parting the crowd around her as she headed for the stage behind her friend.. Grunge helped lift the both of them up before moving back, grumbling idly to himself as he fished around for a can of Sound in order to edit Aisha's work to something more tolerable.

The Parahuman seamstress blinked in shock for a second before coming to her senses. "Wh- a Reaper!? Y-You want me to become a Reaper!?" She sputtered in disbelief.

The Composer felt her eyebrow twitch in irritation before sighing and nodding definitively. "Indeed. That's the reason why you were brought here, to be evaluated. Normally, senior Reapers are _told_ before someone is invited, not to mention the _invitee_..." She shot a glare at Chanson, who had the sense to look sheepish. The Composer held her glare for a second before sighing and shaking her head. "But I suppose that what's done is done. We aren't that big on most rules anyways. So anyways, yes, you have the chance to become a Reaper."

Parian swallowed heavily, shifting her gaze back and forth nervously. "B-But why me!? I mean... you're all artists, and I'm..."

"Simply fabulous!"

She jumped in surprise when Chanson spoke up. The elegant Reaper crossed her arms and nodded definitively. "My dear, you deserve to be here _just_ as much as anyone else! The day, the _day_ I walked into your studio and saw you working on that dress, I thought for certain that you were a Reaper already! The way you handle fabric, your designs, the _colors..._ " She sighed wistfully, bringing her hand up to her forehead. "I know for a fact that you hold no equal in the world of tailoring. I know I flaunted the rules a bit, but I had no other choice! It would be a _crime_ for you _not_ to get the chance!"

Parian stared in shock for a second before a small detail registered. "Wait, a chance? You mean... there's no guarantee?"

"Yes and no..." The Composer said. "There's a minor test. Nothing too serious, nothing dangerous, and if you don't pass you'll be allowed to leave, though again I'll have to ask for you to be discrete with some of the things you know. Other than that though, if you pass, then you'll be well within your rights to accept our offer and become a full-fledged Reaper. So, what do you say, Parian?" She held her hand out invitingly. "Are you willing to give it a shot?"

Parian wrung her hands nervously, wracking her thoughts thoroughly before nodding definitively. "I'm in. Let's do it."

The crowd roared approvingly once anew.

The Composer nodded happily. "Glad to hear it."

Parian swallowed nervously, scratching the back of her neck. "R-right. So... what's the test?"

The Reaper founder shrugged casually. "It's simple enough."

She gestured at Grunge. Almost instantly, the Reaper whipped a spray can off his toolbelt and tossed it at Parian. The girl fumbled with the metal cylinder for a moment before finally getting a grip on it. She stared at the gears and music symbols engraved upon it in confusion.

"Impress us."

Her head snapped up almost instantly. "Wait, what!?"

"You heard me," The Composer repeated patiently. "We're artists, and I just handed you the mother of all paintbrushes. Impress us."

Despite her mouth being hidden the fact that Parian's jaw had dropped open in shock was clearly evident. "Wh- I- b-b-but how!? I mean, h-how do I use the paint? I mean... I don't know how to do what you do, how to make your kind of art, I-I just d-!"

"Shhhhh!" She was cut off by the Composer placing her hands on both of her shoulders reassuringly. "Shh shh shh shhh... there there... I'll tell you. It's easy. Now..."

The Composer leaned in close, her voice dropping to a quiet, kind whisper.

"I want you to close your eyes... and listen. Not to me, not to everything outside... but listen within. I want you to look... for your own Sound."

"M-my Sound?"

"Yes. Everyone has one. It defines a person, defines who they are, their very being. Some can be violent, others gentle, and everything in between. But it's there. The Sound…. is you. It's the breath you breathe, the thump of your heart, the echo of each step you take or word you say. It is something part of you deeper than anything else that comes together almost like a song. Listen to it, find that center and the part of you that is _alive_ when you do something you love more than anything else. Your Sound is _you_ and everything you do. I know this may come off strange, or like some zen-crap people try to sell you on TV. But what I am saying is to use the paint, you have to tap into that. Like Chanson said, it's alive in it's own way. It responds to us, and that is how we create. That part of us that comes to life when we do something we enjoy, something we are passionate about more than anything, the expression of _self_ above anything else. We find that, and bring it out. That's the secret."

"H-How do you know this?"

"Because that's my power. I can hear the things around me in a way that would make your head spin." The Composer smiled, moving to stand beside her instead of in front. "And I can help you let it out. The paint in your hands, it's a part of _my_ Sound, a tiny part, clean and untainted that I take out and put in cans. Some I alter, just a bit, so that it becomes Noise, or the Melodies that the others put on their bodies... but this isn't that. This is _Sound_ , pure and untainted. The raw material, devoid of anything but what you put in it, a blank slate. All you need to do is let your own Sound out, let it move what's in the can, and it will interact with the world. Show us a bit of your world, something that is nothing but _you._ "

"How do I do it?"

"First you find your Sound. Just listen to yourself, and you'll where it is, find it, listen to it, let it guide you. And when you know the time is right... let it out. Just like when you sew and design. It's the same principle, the same _concept._ It's the raw act of _creation._ You know where it is. You've always known. You've heard bits and pieces of it whenever you create something. It's _why_ you create. Because everyone is so busy not listening to it half the time, and you want them to get a glimpse, an _iota_ of the beauty you see and hear inside you. This is your chance. Find your Sound... and let it go."

Parian held her breath, searching herself thoroughly. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. And then...

 _ **Something.**_

Parian's eyes snapped open, her stance shifting to become more confident, more self-assured.

"I need some cloth, some wire, and some metal bars." She commanded.

The Composer snapped her fingers. Barely a minute passed before several bolts of cloth, a spool of wire and a pile of bars were tossed onto the stage.

The crowd had fallen silent, watching, waiting with baited breath for the spectacle to come.

They weren't disappointed.

Almost instantly, the cloth and wire snapped to life, unwinding from their containers and lifting into the air. The wire wrapped itself around the bars, lifting them up into the air and binding them together in a sort of metal skeleton. The cloth streamed around the haphazard framework like a liquid, clothing it and giving it phantasmal form as the ribbons of cloth wrapped and curled around the frame. Parian reached into a hidden pocket in her dress, and withdrew a needle and thread that came to life, threading itself and snaking through the air as it dove into the folds with a silvery flash glinting off the metal.

Slowly, she brought her hand up, shook the paint can, and depressed the nozzle.

Pure color flowed out of the can in a mist, hitting the cloth and instantly flowing up along the entire thing, the cloth shifting around so that every inch of the fabric was touched by the spray. In turn, the paint seemed to sink into the cloth, dying it even as it moved and swirled, lending an unearthly life to the construct.

Finally, the entire thing came to a halt.

Standing tall in the atrium was the form of a woman. She was tall and lithe, with both her upturned hands extended over the crowd. The cloth had wrapped around it in such a way as to form a sort of skin and gown. The gown itself, despite being just long strips of cloth pulled and sewn together was radiant and flowing, almost gossamer in the way it presented an array of ghostly colors, ever-changing in the light. The cloth even hung down from the head of the statuesque being, forming a cascading sort of hair.

Slowly, the being began to move, sweeping it's arms out and then leaning forwards into a curtsy.

Parian stared up at the being in a state of shock, awe even, as she took in her creation, hardly even daring to believe that she was responsible for its existence.

Suddenly, she was snapped out of her shock by a hand falling on her shoulder. Turning around, she stared up at the Composer, whose stance all but radiated pride.

"So, Parian..." She asked gently. "What do you say? Would you honor us by becoming a Reaper?"

The Reapers were deathly silent, awaiting her answer with baited breath.

Parian didn't say a word. She turned her head, looked up at what she had done. At her masterpiece.

Finally...

She nodded, a smile obvious despite her mask.

"Yes."

"HELL YEAH!"

Parian jumped in shock when Gangsta landed right next to her, grabbed her arm, and wrenched it into the air.

"THREE CHEERS FOR THE NEW ROOKIE!" She shouted exuberantly.

The crowd erupted in a singular bellow of joy and approval.

Parian reeled back in shock from the wall of noise hitting her, jumping in surprise when Chanson darted up to her and engulfed her in a hug.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you!" She squealed. "I knew you could do it, I just knew it!"

The seamstress blinked bemusedly. "Uh... right... wow... this is just-"

"Overwhelming, I know. You'll get used to it." Chanson glanced upwards before suddenly releasing Parian and taking a big step back from her. "Eventually. Starting right now."

"Wait, wha-?"

SPLASH!

Before Parian could react, a torrent of multi-colored water cascaded over her. Looking up, she saw a pair of chortling Reapers holding onto a newly emptied oil drum.

"Sorry dear," Chanson apologized as she tried in vain to hide her snickering. "But it happened to me, and now it happens to you. A tradition for introducing neophytes if you will."

"HAHAHAHAHA-Wait a second!" Gangsta cut her cackling off midway when a realization struck her. "You guys never did that to me!"

"Good point..."

Gangsta reacted almost instantly to the growling voice, materializing her wings and attempting to take off. But before she could, she was wrapped in a pair of massive, bear-like arms. Unfortunately for her, despite her struggling, Grunge wasn't about to let her go anytime soon.

"I'd say you're long overdue!" Despite his tone being partly menacing, it was obvious that he had a shit-eating grin on behind his mask. "HIP! HOP!"

"HERE!" The two chorused simultaneously. The two were flying above the crowd on a pair of newly acquired wings, a fresh barrel held between them. They were smiling madly as they landed on the stage and deposited it before Grunge.

"In case you're searching your memories for any point where you wronged us..."

"Don't! We're just doing this for the hell of it!"

"Now then..." Grunge flipped Gangsta upside down in his grip, holding her by her ankles. "Time for you to take a dip!"

"DON'T EVE-BLRGH!" Gangsta's protests were cut off by her captor dunking her in the multi-colored liquid and drawing her out.

"So, enjoy your swim?"

The teenage Reaper displayed her creativity by releasing a veritable slew and combination of cusses.

Both Hip and Hop gasped, slapping their hands on their ears.

"Such a filthy mouth!"

"You'll corrupt our poor, innocent ears!"

"SCREW YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! YOUR 'INNOCENCE' IS WORTH JACK SHIT!"

Grunge tsked in disappointment, shaking his head mockingly. "Case in point. Well, only one thing to do: wash your tongue!"

"DON'T-BLARGH!"

The Composer chuckled lightheartedly for a moment before her laughter slowly trailed off. She watched the group for a second before turning around and walking away, jumping off the stage and skirting the crowd as she headed for a side door and out of the gallery.

"Where ya goin' Boss?"

"The pig-farmer's right. The party's just getting started."

Or at least she was, until she was stopped by Southern and Chicago as they jogged up calling out to her.

Slowly, she turned around to face them. The three of them were alone, tucked away in a back corner while the rest of the Reapers were at the front of the room, laughing at the spectacle Grunge was putting on.

The Comp... Taylor stared at them for a moment before turning away and bowing her head. There was a sort of silence, a stiffness to her. "What if this is all false?" She asked quietly. "All of this... you saw Parian. She changed, drastically, after I spoke to her. She managed to do _that..._ What if... what if I caused that?"

South stepped up to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Boss..."

Taylor shrugged his arm off, stepping away and looking up at him miserably. "I'm serious! You know it's possible! Master effects can be completely unnoticeable! It's why Sadboy was free for so long! Nobody noticed how everyone around him got more and more depressed, not even him! Not until... until they..." She choked off a sob.

 _"Boss!"_

She was shocked out of her morbid thoughts by Chicago of all people grabbing her by her shoulders and flipping her around.

"Watch." He commanded firmly.

And Taylor did.

She watched as the Reapers cheered on Grunge as he dunked Gangsta in the water.

Watched as Gangsta suddenly slipped from Grunge's grip and took to the air.

Watched as Gangsta circled around Grunge, took ahold of his head, and dunked him in the barrel before he had time to react.

Watched as Hip and Hop cackled wildly, squawking in shock when the barrel was suddenly tipped on its side and dumped on them.

Watched as Parian all but doubled over in laughter, Chanson in the same situation at her side.

Watched as DJ Chiptune and DJ Synth started raising the volume on the music, restarting the party.

"See that?" Chicago asked. "They're happy. They're really happy. It's not some fake happy, like the kind you get from a Master, or from drugs, I've seen that kind of happy before, that's a forced happy. This? They're really, truly, genuinely happy. I don't doubt it. If you _do_ have Master powers, then you're not using them on us. And even if you were... would it be that big of a deal? I reiterate, _they're happy._ Hell, I'm happy, and that never happened before I came here."

"The kid's right, Boss." South concurred. "Fact is, you've done good. We've had this out how many times before? And the same answer each time? Now, wipe that sad look on your face before I slap it off. This here's a party! Act like it, consarnit!"

Taylor stared at them in surprise for a moment before slowly bowing her head.

And then...

The Composer looked up confidently. She almost instantly tapped and activated her microphone. "Chiptune! Synth! Are you two mocking me? I can still hear my own heartbeat! Pump the music up! We're trying to celebrate!"

Almost instantly the speakers arrayed throughout the gallery began thumping out a deep bass, sending the Reapers into a frenzy and kicking the party into high gear.

The Composer took a moment to nod gratefully at Chicago and Southern. "Thank you. Both of you."

The red-hooded Reaper gave her a thumbs-up. "Hey, no matter what you say, you're our Boss, and that's a fact."

South nodded definitively. "That means we'll always look out for you, end of discussion."

"Well in that case, as your Boss... I order you to _party!"_

All of the Reapers were happy to comply all night long.


	8. Sonata 7

**Sonata 7**

 **-o-**

The best way to describe the place was with a single word. That word being "Dive" with a capital 'D' in all senses. Jangle's safehouse, or rather just Jangle's, was considered the first and last bastion of the Reapers. Not that the decor suggested that, but it was. The actual location was only known to senior Reapers, and it was a place to lay low in an emergency and regroup. Primarily, it was the site of interaction between the Composer and the supply chain that fed cans to Reapers across the city, as well as the place where she would typically catch up on news and messages before heading out.

Once again, not that it looked like it. Truth to it's outside appearance of a condemned house, the inside was a mix of a dump and a wreck. Where the wallpaper had peeled off fresh layers of paint had been applied, the same for the carpet resulting in a demented mesh of floral prints and shag with mind-bending swirls of raw color.

The furniture wasn't much better. The couch she sat on was of especially questionable origins having been patched so many times with so many different materials that it was itself more an experience than a place to rest. Everything else had been similarly appropriated from somewhere and questionably arranged in a way that might have sent an interior decorator to the nearest head doc. Even the shelves were just cobbled together pieces of wood tacked where ever there was space.

She smiled to herself a bit at that, as she flipped a page of the newspaper. Here, Taylor Hebert went in, Composer came out and vice versa. An unconventional place, for an unconventional change in self.

At this moment, the Composer was chuckling idly to herself as she reread the latest article on the Undersiders daring heist on Bay Central.

Apparently, the gang of thieves had managed to somehow infiltrate the bank via a backdoor and taken the customers and employees hostage, as well as Panacea, who had been there by sheer coincidence. Several Wards and Glory Girl had attempted to corner them, but due to Clockblocker and Vista being called out to disable a bomb on the other side of the city, they'd managed to make a clean get away. Luckily, no one was hurt and they'd even sent a message to the Dallons, apologizing for endangering Amy.

The Composer nodded proudly as she reread the part about the bomb call. Ever since the fateful meeting last week, the Reapers had been very proactive. Thanks to Chicago's intel, they quickly figured out what Bakuda was up to. Luckily, the combined usage of Garage Wolves and Ambiefoxes had allowed for the bombs to be discovered and relocated to safe areas for the PRT to disarm. Plus, more than a few E88, ABB and Merchant goons had been jumped, meaning that the authorities had their hands full with cleanup duty.

Still though, for the time being, things were shaping up to be a quiet night. No villain attacks, no hero raids, no nothing. Yup, tonight was definitely a quiet-!

SLAM!

The door was kicked open by a clearly panicked Aisha.

 _'Murphy or Simurgh, either way, one of them is going to pay for ruining this for me.'_

In the time it took for the panicked girl to cross the room she had marked her page and folded the newspaper in one practiced movement, carefully setting it on the rickety side table as she stood up. After all, she was the Composer, nothing could faze her.

Aisha gripped her by her shoulders and began shaking her vigorously. _"Taylor!_ You have to help me! Please! _Please!"_

Almost nothing. However, any surprise she might have shown was instantly and brutally repressed.

"T-Taylor!? I- wha- how-!?" The Composer stuttered.

Wow, she was really off her game tonight.

"I've known for awhile, alright!?" Aisha snarled. "Neither the Composer and Acoustic _or_ Taylor are ever in or around the same place at the same time. No one can remember recruiting Acoustic, just that she showed up one day with a seal of approval. You're both always listening to music one way or another, and your art styles are _exactly the same!_ Do you want me to write you a fucking list!?"

Tay-The Composer stared at her in shock for a second before narrowing her eyes behind the sleeping-mask shaped sunglasses she was wearing. "Aisha. What's wrong?"

The frantic teen stared at her numbly for a second before stumbling backwards, gripping her head as she shook it frantically. "M-my brother, my brother. He needs help! He needs help o-o-or he's gonna- he's gonna-EEP!"

She let out a surprised squeak when Taylor caught her in a hug. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was long enough. Aisha's breath evened out, and her nervous jittering slowed until it finally stopped. She slowly took a deep breath and gave Taylor a serious look. "Do you have a laptop?"

Taylor let her go wordlessly and pulled a computer out from behind a loose wall panel. Aisha grabbed it, set it on the table, and booted it up. She hastily opened a webpage and entered a website address. A very _familiar_ address.

The Composer's eyes narrowed inquiringly. "Uber and Leet's site?"

"Wait for it..." Aisha muttered, tapping her finger on the table impatiently.

The page loaded. Displayed on it was a live feed of the web-famous villains. And they appeared to be fighting-

"The Undersiders!?" The Composer said in surprise. Then another connection hit her. She gave Aisha a shocked look. _"Grue!?"_

"Before you say _anything_ , he triggered saving me from one of my mom's psycho boyfriends!" Aisha shot back instantly.

The Composer was silent for a long time. Finally... "'One of'?"

Aisha flinched involuntarily, looking away. "... he's trying to get custody. The Reapers have been helping me stay out of a lot of trouble... but now he's in a lot more!" She jabbed her finger at the gamer duo. "Look at the theme they're using!"

The Reaper Boss stared at them for a second before scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. "Yeah, see... I don't know videogames that well..."

The young tagger facepalmed. "For the love of- _Bomberman!"_

 _That_ got the Composer's attention. "Bakuda." She breathed in horror.

"Exactly!" Aisha groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "She must still want revenge for that casino heist..." She gave her friend and leader a pleading look. "Taylor, please. If Bakuda fights them... you have to help! I'm begging you!"

The Composer bowed her head silently, deep in thought. Suddenly, she slowly shook her head. "No."

Aisha paled drastically. "W-what?" She whispered numbly.

The Composer looked at her in confusion for a second before jerking as realization hit her. "GAH! N- I wasn't talking to you! I was talking about this situation! Something doesn't _feel_ right is all!"

"O-oh..." The girl began to breath easier. "What do you mean?"

"Well... look!" The Composer gestured at the ongoing fight. "Why would Bakuda do this? Why would she focus her attention on _them_ instead of _us?_ We captured Lung, not them! So why would she..." The Composer's eyes widened in realization behind her glasses. "Target of opportunity..." She mumbled in horror before snarling and ramming her fist on the table. "Damn it!"

"Huh?! What the hell are you talking about!?"

"It's a distraction!" The Composer spun on her heels and began walking towards the shelves, her clothes shifting as she went. When she was done, she was wearing a tactical uniform composed of a vest, fingerless gloves, pants, and heavy-duty boots. Labeled across her chest was the word "Rebel" in graffiti-style letters. On her head she was wearing a combat cap with earflaps and a military headset. The lower half of her face was covered by a facemask and her eyes were hidden behind military goggles. The whole ensemble was colored in the blacks, greys and whites of urban camo.

A quick scan and she scooped a cellphone from the assorted junk, flipping it open and hitting numbers without skipping a beat. She had it to her ear the second it started ringing.

And barely two rings later, the jovial voices of the DJs spoke up. _"Hey, this is the Reaper Review! What's up boss?"_

The Composer didn't bother with a greeting. "Synth, Chiptune, trouble. Get the word out to every Reaper that can or wants to fight. Bakuda is making her move. This is the heavy stuff. No screwing around. Fast and loud, and make it to the point."

The duo lost their chipper tones instantly. _"Got it."_ The Composer was already dialing before they hung up.

Aisha finally shook her shock off enough to start talking. "Wh-what the hell are you talking about?"

The Composer tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for someone to pick up. "Bakuda's using the broadcast to draw attention to herself and away from PRT HQ. She must still have several bombs out in the city we haven't found yet. With everyone focusing on the fight, Oni Lee's free and clear to break Lung out!"

Aisha's breathing quickened. "W-we need to stop her! She might try and execute B-Grue!"

"Working on it!" A click sounded on the other end of the line. "Chicago!"

 _"Storage facility near the Trainyards, one-three-zero-six. Don't ask me how I know."_

"Don't care!" The Composer hit another speed-dial button. She was answered before the first ring even sounded. "Psychedelic!"

FWOOSH!

Aisha jumped in shock while the Composer turned around calmly to observe the person who had materialized in a burst of crimson tribal-tattoo fire behind her.

He was wearing a pair of white sweatpants and a white hoodie with red tribal tattoos on them. On top of his raised hood were a pair of seamlessly sewn-on fox ears. His face was obscured behind a white kabuki fox mask with more red markings. Waving freely behind him were five flame-orange fox tattoo fox tails. He stared at her emotionlessly, his only movement to tilt his head to the side.

The Composer was unfazed by his eerie presence. "Trainyard storage, thirteen-oh-six. Get them out of there and stall for time."

The figure didn't respond. He merely burst into flame anew and disappeared without so much as a trace of ash or burn marks. Aisha just stared for a moment before giving the Composer an odd look. "W-who?"

For her sake, the Composer just shook her head. "A good Reaper, and a bad example. There is a reason why you have to get a senior to vouch you for high-level cans or tats. He's that reason. It's also why I took the only can of Neo-Nine Tails out of circulation."

Aisha opened her mouth to question further, but wisely snapped it shut and shook her head.

The Composer just nodded sagely as she turned around and headed for a cardboard box to the side and started rifling through to the sound of clattering cans. "Good girl. You can play detective later, when you're not poking around someones secret identities. Offhand, we're going to talk about that later. Now catch."

The younger girl almost fumbled as a few heavily decorated cans flew through the air, and ended up juggling them for a split second before she was able to get them under control. Aisha took a moment to gawk in stunned silence at some of the cans she had in her hands. Cans that senior Reapers would trade a limb for. But before she could try and say anything about it, the Composer had pocketed another cellphone and was heading to the door. She stopped at the door, looking back with a hard set to her stance. "You coming or what?"

Aisha stared at her for a moment before grinning ferally. She grabbed the bandana hanging around her neck and drew it up around her mouth and fished her beanie out of her pocket, slipping it over her hair in a practiced motion.

"Let's go kick some AB- _bitch_ ass!" Gangsta crowed.

The Composer smirked beneath her mask. "Atta girl."

 **-o-**

"Thank you for waiting, Park Jihoo."

The sick smirk was almost visible in Bakuda's monotone voice as she eyed the frightened Korean teenager. He was barely holding onto a pistol, occasionally glancing at the teenage villains he was supposed to be aiming at.

"You can shoot someone now."

The kid opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ plead for his life...

When to the shock, and to some relief, of the onlookers, the weapon was yanked from his hands.

Attention shifted from the teen to the mysterious white-clad, fox-faced individual suddenly next to him. The person was holding the gun in one hand, while the other had a finger pointing upwards that he was wagging side-to-side in a disappointed, scolding manner.

Bakuda was the first to regain her wits. "W-who the hell are you!?"

The fox-person responded by giving her a taunting wave. He then darted through the crowd of asians, faster than any of them could react, slipping in between bodies and beneath arms like his skeleton was composed of liquid.

Within mere moments, he'd reached the Undersiders. He grabbed the front of Grue's costume with one hand, Tattletale's with the other, and wrapped a hither-to unnoticed unearthly fox tail around Regent.

Bakuda reacted instantly, courtesy of bomb-experience honed reflexes. "SHOOT THOSE SONS OF BITCHES!" She roared, her voice-modulator doing nothing to hide her impotent rage.

Multiple gunshots rang out, but proved to be ineffective as fire flared up around the quartet before vanishing utterly, leaving the lead projectiles to pass through the space they'd once occupied unimpeded. The fox-like man however, reappeared on top of a cargo crate in another plume of flame shaking his head disappointedly.

"Why you-!" She growled, bringing her grenade launcher up and preparing to fire.

Before she could, however, the fox-man disappeared again in a flash of flame, this time taking the crate with him before Bakura could even start to depress the trigger.

Once again the mad bomber's reflexes aided her, allowing her to roll forwards and avoid being crushed flat by almost a quarter ton of plastic and metal that came screaming down from the sky above, scattering her troops.

Her attention was drawn to a new miniature inferno, heralding the foxes reappearance. The man was standing on top of one a row of storage lockers. He gave her another taunting wave before wheeling around and dashing away.

Bakuda growled furiously, stomping towards her jeep. "After him you sons of-!"

Her tirade was cut off when she noticed a shadow passed over her. She barely had time to curse in three different asian dialects before she threw herself backwards, the driver scrambling to jump over the vehicle's door and run away.

CRUNCH!

Not a moment too soon, because seconds later the jeep was reduced to a heap of metal beneath the talons of a massive bird.

The bird let out an ear-splitting shriek as its claws kneaded and tore the metal beneath it and spread it's wings, an image of triumph and supremacy as an individual jumped off its back while another stayed behind.

The Composer's arms were crossed behind her back as she stared down at Bakuda. "Tell me, Gangsta," She called out in a casual yet severe tone. "What is the average speed of a Cornix Canor being ridden by a pissed off Reaper?"

Gangsta planted her foot forwards and rested her arm on her knee, glaring at all the ABB members present. "Very fucking fast."

"E- _xactly."_ The Composer nodded in agreement. "So, tell me Bakuda... what does that tell you of our current disposition?"

Bakuda ignored the question, instead squaring off with the other parahuman. "What the fuck are you doing here, Composer?" She growled dangerously. "This is _my_ business, between me and the Undersiders! What, are they part of your gang now or something!?"

The Composer just shook her head. "No, to be frank. This isn't business, this is personal so to speak."

The bomb-maker groaned through her mask and made an exaggerated show of rolling her eyes. "This is about your stupid hard-on for 'freedom' isn't it?"

"That, and I would rather not see a one-ton dragon roaming the streets again."

Bakuda jerked in shock before snarling and taking a step forwards. "So you guessed our plan? So the fuck what? Going to try and stop me?"

The Composer shrugged. "Well, I'm already here. I just made a dramatic entrance, rescued the Undersiders, crushed your jeep, and my Reapers are already sweeping the city for whatever other bombs you might have hidden, so yeah, I'm probably going to stop you. That is, if the PRT and Protectorate aren't doing the same. People keep telling me they listen in on our broadcasts, so someone somewhere probably heard about this."

Bakuda stared at her furiously for a moment before throwing her head back and laughing madly. "HA! _You_ think you're going to stop me!? Look at you!" She gestured at the Composer. "You might be the Composer, but you don't have any tattoos, you don't have any cans, you don't have any of your precious paint." The bomb Tinker brought her grenade launcher up victoriously. "You have nothing."

And with that, she fired.

The press-ganged asians flinched back in fear of the reaction...

But were shocked when the Composer reached an arm out and caught the canister in her hand, where it detonated uselessly into a cloud of smoke.

"That's where you're wrong, Bakuda." The Composer retorted coldly.

Cries of shock sounded out when the smoke cleared and it was shown that the Composer's arm had been replaced with a larger, bone-tattoo rendition.

"I am the Composer, and I have _everything."_

Before Bakuda could react, the Composer reached out with her stronger arm, grabbed a hunk of the jeep's wreckage, and lugged it at her.

For the third time that night the tinker's reactions rescued her from high-velocity trauma.

"Come on, _Bakada,"_ The Composer growled as she stepped forwards, her other arm transforming into a matching clawed arm. "Seeing how you're so woefully culturally ignorant, allow me to teach you how we white people express our unhappiness."

Bakuda snarled once again as she rose to her feet. "And I'll return the favor."

And without rhyme, reason or warning, the sound of explosions ripped through the Brockton Bay night sky.

 **-o-**

Grunge cursed vehemently as he ran down the street, as he ran down the road, his ear pressed to his phone.

"Damn it, Bakuda's making her move!" He growled. "I need intel! Where are those bombs and what the hell is going on!" He barked into the speaker.

He started receiving calls almost a minute later.

"Hip? Hop?"

 _"Corner of Ninth and Queens!"_

 _"It's our favorite arcade! It's stuck in the middle of some kind of land-locked hurricane!"_

"Get several Minks out there, have them rotate _opposite_ the vortex's direction, spin it out!"

 _"Got it!"_

Click!

"Cajun?"

 _"She must have attached something to a buoy and floated it out! Water in the bay's going nuts! It's not tsunami-level, but some fishermen got caught out on the water, and I think some kids got swept off the Boardwalk!"_

"Contact Shanty, I want sharks running rescue out there the day before yesterday!"

Click!

"South?"

 _"It's bad, Grunge. She set something off in a motel, rusted every piece of metal to dust. The whole place collapsed under it's own weight! We've got about five out, but there's gotta be close to a dozen more still inside!"_

"Where is it?"

 _"The Dirt Nap, on Pines and Sixth."_

Grunge glanced at a nearby signpost and accelerated his pace. "I'm about three streets away, hang tight! If the PRT show up sta-" He stopped, frowning as he saw an armored transport with PRT colors up ahead. One parked directly in his path, and milling with uniforms. Grunge swallowed a lump and ducked into a nearby alley.

" _Grunge?"_

He nodded, more to himself than anything as he used a free-hand to roll down his sleeves to cover his tattoos and reveal the PRT-Tech patch on his shoulder while he hung his mask from his belt, as well as whipping his cap off his head and stuffing it in his back pocket. A few other quick alterations, and he wasn't Grunge anymore. "Ya, I'm here. Just stay out of the PRT's way. If they give you trouble, duck out."

 _"Got it. Stay safe."_

"Oh we are _way_ beyond that point, my friend." He muttered before snapping the phone shut. He dug an ID badge out of his pocket, clipped it to the front of his overalls, and dashed towards the PRT van.

One of the troopers immediately stopped him before he could get any closer to the rubble, but before he could get a word out, Grunge flashed his badge. The trooper sagged in relief as he turned and followed him. "Geeze, where the hell were you?"

"Lunch break," the engineer grunted remorsefully. "Nothing ruins a sub like a terrorist attack. So, what do we got?"

"One of Bakuda's bombs was hidden in the basement. It somehow caused all the metal in its range to rust disintegrate. The building collapsed without its supports, and the missing water mains aren't doing much to help with matters either. Plus..." The trooper glanced at several Reapers that were digging through the rubble, some with claws, others directing Noise to help with the search. One particularly notable Reaper was one dressed as a cowboy. He was directing a small herd of pigs that had several ropes wrapped around them and were squealing loudly as they strained to tow a particularly large piece of wall away. "We've got these Reapers all over too."

"Leave them." Grunge ordered instantly.

"But sir-!"

"Don't you 'but' me, soldier!" He barked, wheeling around on his heel to loom over the obviously frightened officer. "We're in the middle of a full-blown city-wide attack! At this point, I would work with Hookwolf himself if he was digging through the rubble! So you will work with those Reapers to pull rescue and you will like it, or I swear that I will have you scrubbing toilets for a month, _am I clear!?"_

The trooper snapped into a hasty salute. "Yes Chief Engineer Lithe, Sir!"

"Good! Now get fucking moving and get the word out that no one so much as _touches_ a Reaper, or else they'll deal with me!"

Grunge grunted approvingly as the soldier scurried off. He shouted out a few more orders before marching towards South. "So, I hear you're the guy in charge of these delinquents?"

South tipped his hat in agreement. "That I am. The name's Southern." He extended a hand.

Grunge nodded in acknowledgment as he shook his hand. He then leaned in and lowered his voice as he whispered conspiratorially with the other Reaper. "These guys will stay off your backs for now, but don't push it. How are things going?"

South growled under his breath and spit to the side. "Better then it looks, worse then it could be. Bakuda's a she-devil. We've found a few people, but this place is like a house of cards without the supports. We're being as careful as we can, but some parts need more strength then we have. It's a godsend that that effect didn't last longer than a single blast."

Grunge opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by coughing coming out of a pile of rubble nearby. He and South immediately dashed over to it.

South tried to lift a part of the rubble, but Grunge immediately stopped him when he saw the whole thing begin to shake. "It's unstable, we need some kind of support..."

South slapped at his sides for a moment before growling in frustration. "Got any Corehogs?"

Grunge quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching before discretely slipping his friend a can. "Emo."

"That'll do it." South shook the canister and sprayed it on a nearby piece of pavement, outlining the skull of a porcupine with multiple spikes poking out from the borders. There was a flash of light and static, followed by the materialization of a purple porcupine with pink tattoo quills.

Without so much as a sound, the porcupine ambled towards the rubble and slipped in through the cracks. About a minute later, there were several thunks and the pile was pushed upwards a bit.

"Now!"

South grabbed ahold of the rubble and heived upwards again. This time the debris shifted without issue, revealing an injured man and the corehog, its quills extended into the surrounding rubble as makeshift supports.

Grunge hastily dragged the man out of the debris and into the open air while the corehog rescinded its quills and darted out alongside him.

"Alright, you can drop it."

South groaned in acknowledgement as he dropped let go of the debris, allowing the pile to collapse inwards on itself.

Grunge signalled a pair of paramedics to come over and help the victim while South panted, doubled over and his hands on his knees. "Geeze, isn't this your schtick?"

The bear-like man grunted in response. "You did alright."

"Yeah, well you're going to have to do it too, and better." South jabbed his thumb at a particularly large gathering of rescue personnel. "There are several people trapped under a large piece of the roof over there. It's too heavy for us to lift, so they're waiting for either a machine or a cape, but I don't know how long things will last."

"Can't you send in some grizzlies?"

"Gravity-enhancer four blocks away. We sent anyone with cans or paint over there, they're the only ones who have the muscle to stand under their own weight."

Grunge grunted in acknowledgement, fishing his cap out as he headed towards a nearby alley.

"Hey!"

He looked over his shoulder at South.

"Does it ever get any easier?"

Grunge stared at him for a moment before giving a feral grin. "Not on your life."

South returned the grin right back. "Good, I love a challenge."

Grunge chuckled as he walked into the alley. However, before he got changed, he got his phone out and typed in a number. A moment for it to dial followed by someone picking up.

 _"Hello?"_

"Chicago, how are things at the PRT?"

 _"Well, in a word, I would have to say... bad."_

 _"How_ bad?"

 _"Well now, that depends..."_

 **-o-**

Chicago stared flatly at the hole torn in the PRT Headquarters, idly watching the smoke roil out of it. "What would you classify Lung escaping as?"

 _"Damn it! Is anyone trying to stop him?"_

"Yeah, I've got a few guys on it." Chicago turned to observe the flickering lights of an inferno shining over the buildings a few streets away. "They've got two Minimal Rhinos and a Wooly AOR trying to beat him down, and I called in a Drake too."

 _"And how's_ that _working out."_

Chicago made to answer... but was interrupted by a brown rhino falling out of the sky and crushing a thankfully empty PRT van before evaporating into static.

 _"I retract the question."_

"Riiiight. So anyways, Oni Lee used some kind of insta-blaze bomb to set half the place on fire. The half that isn't is trying to put out the half that is and is generally running around in panic. I'm going to go check out what's left of the building, see if anyone's still inside."

 _"Alright, but stay away from the cells. They've got a Master locked up in there somewhere, understood?"_

"Yeah yeah, I hear you." Chicago ended the call and jumped through the hole in the metal, flanked by a pair of Garage Wolves. "Now, let's see, which way to the holding cells..."

He looked down at the wolves, quirking his head. The two canines stared blankly at him before snuffling around and whining at one end of the hallway. Chicago just nodded with a smile. "That way then. Could swear he mentioned something about not going this way, but help me if I can remember what. Must not have been that important."

His pace was languid, calm even. The wolves prowled just behind, eyeing and sniffing anything out of place. A turn in the hall later, and he was at an intersection. A look to the right path gave him a view of destruction where great gouges of cement and metal were left behind, along with caved in bits of floor. Ahead and to the left showed untouched stretches of hall. He gave another look to his wolves, and they too looked right.

"Well. I suppose right looks promising. The other ones look good too though." The look he got in return from his hounds might have been scathing, if it was possible to assign human emotion to canines made of raw emotion. He just stared blankly back and shrugged. "Alright alright. Right it is. No sense of curiosity, I swear. Which is weird seeing how _I_ made you..."

Someone else might have sworn up and down that the lupine creatures eyes rolled.

As they walked down the devastated corridor, the smoke became so dense that Chicago was forced to crouch low and dig a smoke mask out of his jacket, which he then slipped over his mouth and nose. Suddenly, his wolves perked up and dashed down the corridor, letting out loud barks as they went. Chicago was forced to break into a jog to keep up with them.

Finally, the Garage Wolves slid to a halt, barking at a large and particularly well-armored door. The Wolves gave him a wide-eyed look and scratched at the door. Chicago just raised an eyebrow. "Well now. Why oh why would someone make such a big scary door?" He smiled. "Unless it's to hide something big and scary?"

"WOOF!" CHOMP!

"OUCH!" The Reaper hopped on one leg as he glared at the mutinous hound. "Alright already, I'll stop screwing around. Geeze, can't even drop the hard-ass act for a minute."

Chicago started pounding on it with his fist. "Hey, is anyone in there? Can you hear me?" Then he stopped, his fist mid-swing. "Wait, what am I doing? This is a Master cell, it's probably sound-proofed to hell and back."

He then blinked as a thought hit him. He grinned eagerly as he looked downwards. "The _floor_ on the other hand..."

He fished a can out of his hoodie, sprayed the ground, and a moment later there was a blueish-gray shrew-like Noise with orange tattoo-claws sticking out of a hole in the ground.

Chicago pumped his fist triumphantly. "Yes!"

BOOM!

An explosion rang out from further down the hallway. Chicago's eyes widened in panic as he saw the corner light up with firelight. "Ohnononodigdig _digdigDIG!"_ He bellowed, jumping into the hole behind the frightened creature.

Five minutes later, the ground outside and across from the building bulged upwards for a second before exploding open, expelling a Shrew Gazer, Chicago Blues, his Garage Wolves, and a second person, all coughing from the smoke trailing billowing out of the hole.

"Fuck... Bakuda..." Chicago wheezed. "And fuck... Oni Lee... didn't anyone ever tell him... it's rude... to double-dip?"

"I don't think he really cared..." The woman next to him said, rubbing the smoke out of her eyes and patting down the feathers in her hair that were layered with soot.

"It's still rude..." He muttered before extending a hand towards the woman. "Anyways, I'm Chicago, Chicago Blues."

The woman stared at his hand for a moment before hesitantly reaching out and shaking it. "Paige McAbee, or... Canary. Whichever works."

Chicago nodded in acknowledgement, grunting as he helped her to her feet. "Well then!" He stated, clapping his hands together and dusting them off. "We'd better get going. PRT is going to hear about the second bomb and come running. Don't want to be here when they get back." He started walking forwards...

But stopped when he noticed that Paige wasn't following him. He didn't turn around as he posed her a question. "Aren't you coming?"

Canary watched him hesitantly for a second before shaking her head and looking back at the PRT Headquarters. "N-no. I'm going to wait here for them."

Chicago still didn't turn around. "... you were being held there until it was time for your trial, right?"

The Parahuman woman bit her lip hesitantly before nodding. "Y-yes. And... they're right to do so. It was an accident, but... I did it."

Chicago hummed thoughtfully, finally turning on one heel to give her a sidelong stare. "So... you're willing to go to the Birdcage?"

Paige shuddered uneasily before shaking her head. "N-no, that w-won't happen. What I did was an accident. I'll do time, yes, b-but it won't be that bad."

"... I agree with you."

Paige sighed in relief.

"However, it appears that whoever is setting you up doesn't."

Canary's head snapped up instantly in shock. "W- _what!?_ S-set up!? I'm not being set up!"

"Oh no?" Chicago took his smartphone out of his pocket and began tapping on the screen. "Let's see here..." He held up the phone before her. It was displaying a series of pictures of men and women that he was thumbing through, naming each one as he went. "Karen Pickerton. Niece who triggered and was caught up by Abigail Rowan-Sato, aka Crane the Harmonious. Laurence Greenwich. Brother still in the ICU thanks to Acidbath. Frederick Richardson. Wife killed while on a business trip in Alaska by the Bratva. And on and on. Even a guy who was part of a short-lived Anti-Parahumans group awhile back. Never went on an official record, but considering the circumstances, I doubt it would make a difference."

Paige stared at the faces in horror. "T-those are-!"

"Your jurors. Tell me..." He tilted his head inquisitively. "Do they seem like a fair and impartial jury to you?"

Slowly, the ex-singer sank to her knees. "W-why? Why is this happening?"

"Because you're being rail-roaded. The whole trial is a sham. _You_ are going to be someones shining example of competence of the law, exactly why Parahumans should strive to do their best to not so much as toe the line. Otherwise..." He gave her a cold, factual look. "they'll be sharing a cell with Lustrum herself."

Slowly, tears began to stream down Canary's cheeks. "W-what do I do?" She whispered helplessly.

Chicago shrugged and raised his hand, three fingers standing tall as he ticked off the first one. "The way I see it, you have three options. First, you can stay here, throw yourself at the mercy of the courts, or more specifically, lack of it. Your lawyer may try to get some extra leniency based on the fact you didn't run when you had the chance and waited, but ultimately, you'll get a cell in the Parahuman's only hellhole known as the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, aka the Birdcage. That's if your lawyer is competent or even actually trying to do his job."

Canary whimpered miserably, seconds away from hysterics.

He ticked off the other finger. "Second, you can do the really stupid thing. That being, run and hit underground hard. Vanish somewhere and not show up again. Maybe find someone who can cover you, and go full cape."

"Or third..."

Chicago ticked off the last finger, before holding his hand out to her, his face still neutral.

"You can come with me. You can stand up and fight. You can find out just who decided to use you as an example, who pulled so many strings and placed you on the altar as a sacrificial lamb. You can find the truth. And then, you can blow the whole thing up. Things like this? Big planning with lots of strings? It tends to hang for a bit. Sorta sticks in the air till someone tries to make it disappear. Cut those threads at the right place and time? It comes down _gloriously._ The term heads will roll becomes a wonderful reality. And the first head to fall will be the one you want."

Paige stared at his hand incredulously before swallowing heavily and giving Chicago a searching look. "W-why? Why would you help me, of all people?"

Chicago watched her for a moment before reaching up with his other hand. Slowly, he brought his hood down and took his baseball cap off, shaking free his messy black hair. He was quiet for a second before talking. "Before becoming a Reaper, I was a conspiracy theorist. And a damn good one at that. I sniffed out secrets, uncovered lies, and I brought them to bear before the whole world. I turned a lot of heads, brought a lot of attention to myself."

Paige gasped in recognition, whipping her hands to her mouth. "Y-you! I recognize you! T-the Watchdog of Chicago!"

Chicago chuckled melancholically as he fell into a half bow. "Pearce Jackson, famed cyber terrorist and bane of politicians and corporations right here. Anyways... the reason why I did it all was that I was tired. So many lies, so many falsehoods and untruths... the air was clogged with it. I just wanted a breath of fresh air. To be able to look out at the world and not be disgusted... We Reapers all have our own beauty we seek, our own freedom. I just want the world to be a bit more honest. And if I can help with that... if I can set the truth free? Then I'm happy. So, what do you say, Paige McAbee?"

He shook his hand slightly.

"Care to take a risk?"

For a moment, Paige stared at his hand fearfully, weighing her options.

Then...

Her eyes gained an edge, a fire, and she clutched it firmly, hauling herself to her feet. "Please," She stated. "Call me Freestyle."

Chicago smirked eagerly. "Excellent. Now come on!" He turned around and started jogging away. "Let's make tracks before we _both_ start singing the Jailhouse rock!"

Freestyle gave the PRT Headquarters a final glance, this one filled with ruefulness and spite, before running after her new friend, leaving the building to burn in the night.

 **-o-**

Bakuda huffed angrily as she kneeled on the ground, trying to regain her breath.

"Just give it up."

She looked up angrily and glared at her opponent. The Composer stood strong, as she had for the duration of their fight, utterly unfazed. No matter what Bakuda flung at her, she always had a rebuttal, some means of defending or escaping. It was either a miracle that all Bakuda had were a few scratches and bruises, or she was being toyed with.

"You can't beat me." The Composer stated matter-of-factly. "And your lackeys and victims won't even get close to me."

True enough, her minions hadn't been of much help either, kept at bay courtesy of a certain foul-mouthed Reaper and her avian enforcer.

But then again, they were all still present, so she might as well put them to use.

Slowly, Bakuda got to her feet and laughed morbidly. "Maybe so, but that's because they haven't been properly motivated. Now then..." She pointed at the Reaper in Chief. "Get her."

Slowly, hesitantly, the asians started to step forwards, the majority of them panicked and fearful.

"Hey, woah!" Gangsta shouted, making her Cornix screech and flap its wings to no avail. "What the heck!? Do the words 'death by huge-ass bird' mean _nothing_ to you people!?"

"They don't when put up against the words 'bombs in their bodies.'" Slowly, but assuredly, she started to laugh, her voice taking on a maniacal tone through the modulator. "Do you see now, Composer? Your precious freedom is weak! But fear? Fear is strong! Fear is the ultimate weapon! Fear has raised me on high!"

"Yes, yes it is." The Composer agreed, nodding slowly. Then she raised an arm and pointed behind Bakuda. "But _arrogance..."_

Bakuda looked around and gasped in shock.

The camera.

The camera livestreaming to Uber and Leet's show.

The damn thing was _still filming!_

"Arrogance was your downfall."

Slowly, Bakuda started to shake with raw, ungodly fury. "You..."

"Oh don't blame them." The Composer interjected. "One of your first orders was to keep that camera rolling at all times on pain of death. So that no one would miss the moment of your victory."

"But instead!" Gangsta crowed ecstatically. "The world wide web got to watch your ass get kicked around like a two-bit soccerball!"

Bakuda's breathing began to accelerate viciously.

 _"Enough,_ Bakuda." The Composer admonished, like she was scolding a child. "Your plan failed. As we speak, my Reapers are helping save lives from your bombs. And those bombs aren't even half as numerous as they could have been. Instead of fearing you, everyone now knows that you've been beaten. You're _done._ This fight is over."

 _"I_ say when the fight is over, do you hear me!?" Bakuda bellowed. "ME!"

"No." The Composer stated imperiously. _"The victor_ says when it's over. And that's not you. So I'm going to say this once, and _only_ once before I put one..." She raised her arm and let Corehog quills grow out of the entire length. "Right through each of your major limb joints. Give. Up."

Bakuda's grip tightened on her grenade launcher. She shook furiously, like a volcano about to blow. And finally...

She clicked a hidden button on the weapon, flung it at the Composer, and _ran._

The Composer cursed, fired multiple rounds into the weapon and then...

Darkness.

An absolute void of light.

Not sound though, she could still hear the screaming of Bakuda's victims, as well as Gangsta.

"BOSS!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. More disgruntled than anything. That must have been a failsafe so she could turn tail and run. Still though, this is _annoying."_

"Yeah. So, any suggestions to get out of here?"

"One. Hey, Psychedelic!"

A fwoosh of flames and then both Gangsta and the Composer were facing the Undersiders.

Gangsta shivered and cast a glare over her shoulder. "Don't. Do that. Again. I don't know _what_ that felt like, and I do not _want_ to know."

Psychedelic leaned in close, until they were eye to eye... and then flicked her in the forehead before flaming away again.

Gangsta shrieked as she took a swipe at the space he once occupie. "Damn Psycho!"

The Composer coughed uneasily as she regained her balance. "Yes, well, now you know where his _other_ pseudonym originates. Anyways..." She brought her attention over to the Undersiders, nervously eyeing the particularly battered Bitch and her hounds. "Are you all alright?"

Grue nodded gratefully. "Yeah, just barely. Don't even want to think about what that bitch would have done to us. Thanks."

"No problem. Always happy to help out someone who's being unfairly picked on. So, if that's everything..."

"Well..." Grue trailed off hesitantly. "There is one thing."

"Hm?"

"I doubt that Bakuda is going to stop here. Chances are, things are about to heat up. And when they do, the other villains in Brockton Bay are going to have a meeting. I'm not saying you're a villain or anything!" He hastily amended. "But still, Faultline shows up to these, and as a mercenary she's best considered neutral, so..."

The Composer stared at him evenly before nodding slowly. "I'll consider it, thank you."

"If you want, I could email you or...?"

"No need, Chicago will let me know when and where. Well, I guess that's everything. Until we meet again, Undersiders."

And with that, she and Gangsta turned around and began to walk away.

"Wait!"

This time it was a female voice. The Composer looked back at a very uncomfortable Tattletale.

"Look..." She said uneasily. "One good turn deserves another and all... ergh, listen, I've never done this before, so you damn well owe. Got it?"

"Uhhh...?"

"You know that thing you're worrying about all the time? That one thing you always fear? Consider this the guarantee of a Thinker: you don't have to worry about it. Ever. Got it?"

The Composer froze, staring at Tattletale in pure, unhidden shock. "Y-you're sure?" She asked quietly.

Tattletale's grin returned full force. "Positive! So do me a favor will you? Next time you have a party, invite us! It's been way too long since we've had any fun."

The Composer hastily regained her wits and nodded confidently. "You'll be the guests of honor. Count on it."

"Looking forward to it, Composer."

"As am I, Tattletale."

And with that, the two groups parted ways, both walking off into the night.


	9. Sonata 8

**Sonata 8**

 **-o-**

"This...is not the best idea you have ever had. We shouldn't _be_ here. Attending this could sign a warrant for us that we aren't ready to deal with. _Listen to me_ , Composer. We can still leave. Back out, and do things our way as we have been doing. This isn't the right choice. If the PRT catch wind…."

Grunge's fretting was silenced by a raised hand.

"Enough, Grunge." She stated, smiling idly beneath her scarf. She was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit. The tie was white with black staff lines running down it, an alto clef at the top near her throat. Her hair was hidden by a fedora, and her mouth was wrapped in a white scarf with the music notation for George Gershwin's 'Rhapsody in Blue' printed on it.

"We can't back down now. The fact is, we've made ourselves known," The Composer shrugged helplessly. "Either we make a stand here and now, show ourselves to be strong... or we might not ever get another chance. And besides, Chicago said that Faultline's crew will be here as well. They're mercenaries, neutral, so we're safe. Happy?"

"No." The large man growled. "I'm going to be in the same room as Brockton Bay's most wanted and _not_ slapping cuffs on them. I am decidedly. Not. Happy."

"Well tough, because Kaiser is coming through that door in precisely ten seconds. Smile!"

Grunge scowled beneath his bandana, and shifted his stance to indicate as much.

"Close enough."

The door to Somer's Rock swung open, granting entrance to several members of the Empire Eighty Eight. Night, Fog, Krieg, Hookwolf and, surprisingly enough, Purity walked in. Heading them off was Kaiser, who was flanked by Fenja and Menja.

The leader of Brockton Bay's resident neonazis froze instantly as he caught sight of the Reaper in chief.

"Kaiser!" The Composer threw her arms wide in greeting. "Welcome to Somer's Rock. Pull up a seat, I'm certain everyone else will be here shortly."

Kaiser slowly swept his gaze across the room, taking in the sight of the other people present.

One of them, dressed as a cowboy, was sitting on a stool at the bar and raised a drink in greeting.

Two of them, a black girl and a white boy, were sitting in a booth. The guy was idly flicking his thumb at his phone and the girl was bobbing her head to the music on a pair of headphones. The guy raised his hand in a lazy wave, then leaned over and slapped the girl upside the back of her head before she could make a move. She glared at him for a second before rolling her eyes and nodding her head to the beat of her music.

To the shock of most of the E88, there were a pair of kids wearing hoodies running around the border of the room, idly laughing as they appeared to play tag. Much to the ire of the waitress and amusement of the men tending the bar.

Lastly, the Composer was sitting at the head of the table in the middle of the bar, her feet propped up on it, while her bear-like associate stood guard behind her, hovering like a large, menacing shadow.

Kaiser swiftly raised his fist, cutting off any speech from his subordinates. "Composer," He stated darkly. "I was... unaware you would be in attendance."

The Composer shrugged indifferently as she leaned her chair back. "What can I say? I heard that this was where anyone who was planning on doing anything about the ABB was gathering. Seeing how that includes me, I decided to make an appearance. See if I could...contribute so to speak" She tilted her head to the side innocently. "I trust you don't have any objections?"

Kaiser grit his teeth beneath his mask, but then smiled as he turned his head to observe something. "Yes, in fact, I do," He stepped back as the two kids ran in front of him. "This is no place for children. I would ask you to remove them."

The Composer didn't respond. Instead, she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers. "Hip. Hop."

Almost instantly, the two darted over to Hookwolf's side, grabbed his right arm, and wrenched it up to eye-level.

"Hey, what the-!?" He attempted to protest.

The twins ignored him as they focused on the gold-plated watch on his wrist.

"Nixon 42-20 Chrono watch." Hop stated in a serious manner as he held up what appeared to be a jeweler's loupe.

Hookwolf growled as he attempted to wrench his arm back. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Hip shrugged as she and her brother released him. "Depends. How much did you pay for it?"

The neonazi grumbled as he rubbed his wrist. "Four hundred bucks, why?"

Hip and Hop gave each other an exasperated look before shaking their heads at him. "You got swindled." They chorused.

Hookwolf's jaw dropped open instantly. "Wait, _what!?"_

"Yeah, see here?" The two grabbed his arm again, and Hip pointed at a part of the watch near the clasp. "Not _only_ can you buy it for fifty bucks less on Amazon..."

"It's starting to flake _right_ here, see it?" Hop prompted, indicating a slightly, minutely grayed portion of the watch. "At best, I'd put it at fifty, seventy-five considering the quality of the forging. Maybe one of the Japanese ones? They do good work."

"Did, before they took the big dive anyways. And they always rusted sooner or later."

"We'll buy it off you for about, eh..." Hop dug a wad of cash out of his hoody and counted out a few bills. "Eighty bucks?"

"Or!" Hip interjected, holding her hoody open to expose an array of smartphones, wallets, and more gold-plated watches. "You can get a discount when buying a new one! Guaranteed to be real, not a fake!"

"You can confirm it with Louie." Hop jerked his thumb at the bar, and the guy in the Hawaiian shirt raised a hand in acknowledgement.

Hookwolf worked his jaw uselessly as he tried to process what he had just heard.

"I know, they scare me too!" The cowboy called out from the bar.

"Twenty-five percent of my street knowledge comes from them." The guy sitting at the booth added. "And that's apiece."

"So," The Composer concluded. "Any _other_ problems? Ones that might actually be valid?"

Kaiser didn't say anything. Instead, he simply walked up to the other end of the table, drew the chair out, and sat down in it heavily. The rest of the Empire chose a booth opposite the Reapers, and Hookwolf stood behind Kaiser, muttering murderously as he fumbled with the clasp on his watch and half-listened to Hip and Hop rambling off prices and qualities to him.

The Composer smiled and nodded her head at Kaiser. "If it's any comfort, they are here because out of all those who could be called...ranking...in the Reapers, those present are here for a good reason. While we can't match you for Parahuman membership, the Reapers instead exemplify those with extraordinary abilities of a more... common nature. Common, but no less indispensable to us and our way of life. Hip and Hop are young physically, but only just physically. Don't let it fool you." She tilted her head and cupped her chin in idle confusion. "Still, I'd have thought your years of experience would have taught you better than to underestimate others."

Kaiser made to answer, but was interrupted by the door to the bar swinging open, granting access to the Undersiders.

Tattletale took one look at the scene before her and immediately whipped a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggling. Any further mirth was interrupted by Grue ramming his elbow into her stomach, prompting her to double over and shoot her leader a nasty glare.

Without further adieu, the Undersiders walked around to sit in a booth, one conspicuously next to the Reapers. Kaiser's eyebrows raised an inch, before lowering as he watched before facing forward and crossing his arms as he looked across to the Composer.

A sort of silence came over the room. Hip and Hop shared a look before shoving a watch in Hookwolf's hand, along with his wallet. The man blinked in surprise, feeling the lightness in it, but the two were gone before he could say anything, vanished into a side-booth next to Gangsta and Chicago.

Hookwolf made to protest, but was silenced by a scathing look from Kaiser. He then swallowed heavily and started to slip the timepiece on his wrist, noting, with not a small amount of alarm, that the knockoff had somehow disappeared.

South, over by the bar, soon followed the example set, taking his drink and a bottle with him as he picked out a booth of his own. Grunge, on the other hand, with a nod from the Composer, took a seat at one of the last tables left behind the first Reaper.

Kaiser's followers followed suit as well. Menja and Fenja took to a table behind Kaiser, while Hookwolf headed for the bar grumbling. Purity threw a sidelong look at the table, before heading to a still empty booth followed by Night and Fog while Krieg seated himself with Hookwolf.

Suddenly, the door to the bar opened again, revealing the nigh-skeletal yet somehow still imposing form of Coil. The influential would-be general observed the room silently for a whole moment, seeming to think on something. Finally, he came to a decision and walked down the length of the table, until he took a seat at the Composer's end to her left, with two seats still separating the them.

The Composer gave him a casual, silent nod, which he returned.

Next, the doors opened to allow Faultline and her group to enter the bar. She too looked over those present without comment, but instead of immediately taking a seat, she circled around in just such a way so that she could pass by the Undersiders and give Tattletale a venomous glare before seating herself between Coil and Kaiser.

Meanwhile, with her group, Newter tried to casually amble towards the bar, but was grabbed by his shoulder by Gregor and all but dragged to a booth alongside Labyrinth and Spitfire.

The whole time, the Undersiders had been talking to each other in hushed tones, until finally Grue stood up, walked over to the table, and sat on the Composer's right, with only one chair separating them.

When the door opened a sixth time, everyone present were all prepared for the scum of the earth made corporeal to walk through the door. As such, it was a pleasant surprise when instead three strangers and _something_ entered the room.

The leader, a male in a tophat, tipped his hat to the onlookers respectively. "Are there any objections to me stepping up to offer my opinion?"

"The... Travelers, yes?" Coil asked in a calm yet... untouchable voice. "You are not from here."

"No, they are not." Chicago interjected, still flicking through his phone. "The Travelers, made of Trickster," He pointed at the leader, "Sundancer," A girl in a sun-themed costume, "Ballistic," A heavily-built and armored guy, "And Genesis in one of her many many faces." He concluded with the massive creature accompanying them. "Debuted in Wisconsin, moved on to Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania... you guys sure get around a lot, don't you?"

Trickster eyed the Reaper uneasily. "You're... well informed."

Chicago shrugged in a bored manner. "What can I say? I like to be well-informed. Anyways, house rules apply. Don't start, don't try to get someone else to start, if you stick up, you get put down. Hard."

Trickster held his hat's brim as he nodded. "Understood. Now then..." He took a seat between Grue and Kaiser and opposite Coil, folding his arms on the table. "Shall we begin?"

Faultline grimaced as she crossed her arms and shook her head. "Unfortunately not. As much as it pains me to say it, we're waiting for one more party."

"Who?"

SLAM!

The sheer hate and disgust that filled the room was all the answer needed. That, and some diluted yet foul smell. South, closest to the door, wrinkled his nose as a look of sheer nausea overtook him and proceeded to shove most of his face into his drink and chug.

The Merchants were either too drugged out of their minds, too stupid, or simply uncaring as to the ire being universally directed towards them, Skidmark slouched his way towards the central table.

However, the negative emotions were made wholly apparent when Kaiser kicked away the chair he was about sit in. Skidmark snarled, anger flashing through the drugged haze apparent in his eyes. "The fuck?"

Kaiser's eyes narrowed through the slits in his crowned helmet, his tone civil and calm yet oddly threatening. "Find a booth."

Skidmark openly frowned, revealing his yellowed teeth beneath his cracked lips. "This cuz I'm black eh? Tha' what you are all about right?"

"Dude!" Gangsta protested from where she was sitting. " _I'm_ black, and I'm offended that you tried to sit there. And that you're black in general."

Kaiser ignored Gangsta, instead continuing. "You can find a booth because you and your lot are pathetic, burnt-out trash not worth talking to. You've nothing to offer sitting here. And this is for those with something to offer. So allow me to repeat myself. Find. A. Booth."

"Fuck you man! We hold territory, we're the top sell-"

He was cut off by Hip and Hop breaking into laughter.

"Please! You? Territory?" Hip sniggered. "I struggle to call the abandoned warehouses on the Docks prime real estate."

"And as for selling?" Hop went on. "Well... I'd take it up with Little Vinny, or the Gray Hearts about who's more popular. Me thinks they might protest a bit."

"Not to mention..." Grue finished in a dark tone, "That your primary clientele is _children."_

The drug-vendor took a moment to process that statement before realizing he'd been insulted. "Hey!" Skidmark took a step forwards. "We don't just sell to brats, we sell to-"

"ENOUGH!" Most of the people present jumped in shock when South raised his bottle up high and slammed it hard on his table. "Skidmark, shut your low-life bumpkin mouth right now and sit your ass down, or I swear to god I will stand up and _sit it for you!"_

The Merchants stared at the cowboy worriedly for a second before swallowing heavily and making their way over to a booth, Skidmark slurring curses under his breath the entire time.

"Thank you... Southern, was it?" Faultline stated politely.

South tipped his hat in acknowledgement. "Just doin' the right thing, ma'am. Nothin' to it but some common courtesy."

"Right then!" The Composer clapped her hands and drew attention to herself. "For better or for worse, that's everyone. Time to get this meeting under way, agreed?"

There were acknowledgments from all around the table. Most of the villains present sat up a bit straighter, refocusing their attention on what was being said, analyzing it for any angle they could play.

Kaiser nodded in agreement with what the Composer said. "Very well then. I presume you all know the reason we are here?"

"The ABB." Coil drawled.

"More specifically..." The Composer cut in, "The situation going on in the streets. The ABB are running rampant all over Brockton, and it keeps falling to us to handle what the PRT can't." The Composer nodded off to one of the side booths. "Chicago?"

The Reaper tapped on his phone idly. "Twenty-five dead, about two hundred odd wounded, all but literal warfare nearly everywhere between them and the police and the PRT. And it looks like things are just going to escalate from here. The PRT Directors have been clamoring for an improvement of the situation, and unless things change soon, I've got a feeling that Director 'Total Warfare' Tagg will call in the big guns sooner rather than later. Thankfully Lung hasn't been out on the streets, preferring to stay at their HQ and run things, wherever the hell that is. But we still got Bakuda and Lee doing their thing and I've been hearing rumors that they got outright barracks of new recruits springing up in their turf. Say what you will about it, press-ganging might suck, but it works." Chicago trailed off a bit before snapping his fingers. "Oh, yeah, and this matters to you because they're taking territory, screwing with business, blah blah blah."

"Yes, it is... inconvenient." Kaiser agreed tersely.

"You've lost what's _got_ to be at least ten-kay in property damages and loss of varying products." Hip deadpanned.

"Either shape up or go under. Actually, on second thought-OW!" Hop yelped when South leaned close to him and rapped his fist on his head. He glared at the cowboy for a moment before wisely pursing his lips.

"The Composer sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Between my Reapers and the PRT, we've been able to keep the worst of the damage to non-populated areas. We have Bakuda's bombing under control, but we can't keep up forever. Not with how they've been swelling their ranks."

Coil did the opposite, leaning forward and peaking his fingers in front of him. "Even I must admit that while damage to my operations is merely superficial at this point in time, it's building up to become a significant hindrance."

"They're being reckless." Faultline stated idly, as though discussing the whether. "Sooner or later, something will have to give."

"And that right there is the problem." Kaiser stated. "Right now, they're explosive both literally and figuratively. Under any other circumstances, this would be a good thing: they'd be doing no real damage and eventually end up shredded. Unfortunately, that is not the case. When they finally self-destruct, there is the all-too-real possibility that they will take all of us with them. As things are, the build up is bad enough, what with heroes from all over the country trying to rectify the situation. The longer we wait, the worse things become for us."

"Bakuda is the cornerstone of this whole debacle." Grue stated darkly. "Lung might be the leader, Oni Lee might be devoted, but Bakuda is the one fueling this. And considering the way she's acting, that's no metaphor. She's all but doubled their standing membership through her recruitment tactics, Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing her go down permanently, but seeing how she's been advertising the fact that her death will result in Brockton Bay going up in flames, I don't see that happening."

The Composer nodded. "We're on the lookout for anything, but nothing we've found so far seems to be up that alley. So either Bakuda is bluffing..."

"Or she's talking about her 'volunteers', or she has something that hasn't been found yet. Something big that she's either working on or already finished and stashed somewhere." Grue finished.

"So, we're in agreement?" Kaiser looked around the table. "The ABB's actions cannot be left unattended anymore."

Everyone at the table gave sounds of agreement, with more than a few acknowledgements coming from the other villains in the room.

"Very well then." Coil nodded. "We'll establish a truce. I will contact the authorities and let them know that illegal activity will be kept to a minimum. This will keep any official troops from targeting us and focusing on the ABB. We stand together if we can to take the ABB down, while on the other hand..." He gave the Merchants a sidelong glare. "If we _can't_ cooperate with someone, we simply ignore them. No fighting, no thefts, no territory grabs, no insults. Agreed?"

Most of the villains gave indications of agreement, save for Faultline.

The mercenary shrugged indifferently. "I won't do anything either way unless someone pays me, you all already know that, so unless someone pays up..."

Coil nodded in acceptance. "Understood. Kaiser?"

"I can live with this."

"We're in." Grue nodded.

"Us too, I guess." Trickster shrugged indifferently.

The Composer folded her hands in front of her face before glancing back at the other Reapers present. "Guys?"

Grunge nodded in agreement. "It sounds reasonable."

South raised his bottle. "Hear hear."

Hip and Hop nodded eagerly. "Let's do it!" "Yeah!"

Chicago merely rolled his eyes, waving his hand on.

Gangsta hummed contemplatively before slowly and carefully posing a question. "Define 'insult'."

THWAP!

"OUCH!"

"We'll do it." The Composer deadpanned.

"Very well then." Coil nodded. "I suppose that's the end of that. Are there any other particularly pressing matters to be addressed?"

"Yeah."

All attention snapped over to Hookwolf as he stood up, glaring at the Undersiders.

"I've got a problem here. With _them."_

Most of the people present tensed, watching the conflict's start beginning.

"More specifically," He jabbed a finger at Bitch. "Her."

"What's your problem with us?" Grue asked, flaring his aura of darkness lightly.

"That psychobitch, Hellhound-"

"The name. Is _Bitch."_

"Don't give a damn. She attacked my business. My _customers."_

"This is Brockton Bay." Grue stated tersely after sparing Bitch a venomous look. "If you're not prepared to run risks, then you're in the wrong business."

"This is a matter of _respect."_ Hookwolf growled. "If you've got an issue, you bring it to me. Otherwise, things will get... messy."

"You mean give you a warning?" Bitch spat. "Like hell. It doesn't matter what you do, I'll break up any dogfighting rings you have the _balls_ to set up in this town."

Grue was barely able to hide a twitch, while Tattletale grimaced and slapped her forehead.

"Is this a declaration of _war_ , Undersiders?" Kaiser asked calmly. "And so soon after we've established a truce too? I must say, I'm disappointed."

Grue shook his head tersely. "Look, I'm not going to stop Bitch from doing what she has to."

"Won't..." Kaiser intoned. "Or can't?"

"Won't." Grue growled. "Lots of capes have hang-ups they're unwilling to let go of. Things that you don't get in the way of. Bitch's is dog cruelty. If you screw with any dogs in Brockton Bay, she won't let it go. It's common knowledge."

Kaiser sniffed imperiously. "I delegate to my underlings and leave minor details to them. Hookwolf has been out of town recently. He must not have heard."

Most of the other villains tensed visibly. They all knew that the statement was pure and utter crap, but none of them were willing to call him out on it.

"Oh really?"

Well, _most_ of them weren't.

Chicago was giving Hookwolf a contemplative look. "Where were you?"

Kaiser tensed visibly, clearly not expecting anyone to respond. "Composer, I would recommend that your underling restrain himself."

The Composer tilted her head innocently. "Oh? Why? I don't see a problem. Chicago's just trying to strike up a conversation, aren't you Chicago?"

The hooded Reaper nodded in agreement. "Oh yeah, definitely. So come on, Hookwolf. Tell us. Where were you?"

The masked neonazi glanced around uneasily before growling darkly at Chicago. "I don't need to tell you, dumbass."

"Come on," Chicago prompted. "It's just an innocent question, no reason to get worked up. Just tell us where you were. Just need the name of the city Hookwolf, that's all."

Hookwolf growled and was about to tell Chicago to fuck off, but was silenced by a glare from Kaiser. One that said 'say something adequate or die'. The Empire Parahuman swallowed uneasily before crossing his arms. "I was in Boston. Needed to negotiate some deals with a gang up there."

Chicago just hummed to himself for a moment, illuminated by the light of his cellphone before ultimately shrugging and pocketing the device. "I see. You were in Boston. That's your story. And you're sticking to it?"

"Damn straight," The parahuman stood a bit taller as he glared imperiously at the Reaper. "Got a problem with it?"

Chicago put his hands up in surrender. "No no, not at all. If you say you were in Boston, who am I to contest your claim. It's just, well..." The rebel artist sighed woefully. "It appears that by saying you're right, someone else is forcibly wrong. And they ever so _hate_ to be told they're wrong."

"Oh yeah?" Hookwolf sneered arrogantly. "And who's that?"

In a millisecond, Chicago's expression flipped, going from a relaxed and laidback smile to a purely predatory grin. "Why, Accord of course."

Hookwolf seemed to deflate almost instantly. "W- _what!?"_ He whimpered.

"Yup! See..." Chicago whipped his phone out and displayed the screen for all to see. On it was a list of names. "Accord is extremely meticulous, and he tries his best to garner public support. As such, in the name of good relations with the common folk, he keeps a nice little record of any and all parahumans that set foot in the city. But, oh me oh my!" The Reaper mock-lamented. "I just can't seem to find your name _anywhere_ on here. Now isn't _that_ odd?"

Hookwolf stammered uselessly, trying to find an excuse. "I-I-I t-that is, er-!"

"Oh well!" Chicago withdrew the phone and began typing in earnest. "An _honest_ mistake, easily sorted out. I've got a friend in Boston, works for the Ambassadors, owes me a favor. I'll just set up a meeting with Accord and we can get this whole mix-up fixed _right_ up, m'kay?"

 _"_ _NO!"_ Hookwolf bellowed, jerking forwards towards Chicago. He then froze in abject horror, realizing what he had just done. All eyes of the meeting were on him. Some were disgusted, others amused, but only one person's were filled with pure, raw fury, and Hookwolf knew even without turning around that he'd be paying dearly later.

His expression neutral, Chicago shut his phone off and placed it face down on the table before him. "Do me a favor, Hookwolf," He intoned darkly, not even turning his head to look at the neonazi. "Next time you try and lie while I'm in the room? Don't insult me."

The wolf-themed parahuman shook furiously, mere moments from leaping at the Reaper and wringing his scrawny neck. But before he could...

 _"_ _Hookwolf."_ He froze as Kaiser's voice cut through the silence like a frozen, arctic blade. "Sit. Down. _Now."_

Shivering violently, Hookwolf turned around and trudged back to the Empire's booth, dropping heavily into his seat.

For several minutes, silence reigned over the bar until finally the Composer broke it by clapping her hands together. "Welp!" She stated casually as she stood up from the table. "That's that! I'd say we're done here. Gangsta, Chicago, Grunge, South, let's bounce. Hip, Hop, give back the silverware."

A pair of depressed "Awwwwww!"s rang out.

"No buts, you two. Now hurry up, otherwise we'll miss Chiptune and Synth's broadcast."

The mundane Reapers all stood up from their spots and followed her out the door, the twins making a stop at the bar to dump out a rather alarming amount of cutlery from their hoodies.

A few minutes after the departure of the street artists, Grue stood up silently from the table, followed by the rest of his gang as he left Somer's Rock.

However, as Faultline made to stand up, Coil held up his hand, causing the mercenary to stop.

"There is another... _issue_ I would like to discuss." The reclusive man stated darkly. " _Without_ the presence of the Composer and her... friends."

Faultline sunk back into her chair, gesturing for him to continue.

"I will not mince words with any of you: I am concerned about the Reapers." Coil laid out bluntly. "It appears that we have unknowingly allowed a new threat to our standings here in Brockton Bay to rise up without our notice. As they have demonstrated tonight, they have ample resources, far more than any of us could have possibly predicted."

Kaiser nodded solemnly in agreement. "They are bold. Well informed. Though they might feign weakness and innocence, their strength is unmistakable."

Trickster glanced up and down the table warily. "Don't you guys think you're overreacting a bit? I mean... they're just a bunch of artists!"

Coil snorted mockingly. " _Just_ a bunch of artists, _just_ a drug kitchen, _just_ a neighborhood watch. That's how it all starts. One small thing, one small organization. From there, it grows, becoming bigger and stronger until the end result is unavoidable: a faction in the world's neverending struggle for power. A menace to us all."

Faultline huffed and crossed her arms. "To you, maybe. This doesn't concern me in the slightest."

Coil shrugged indifferently. "So be it. Nevertheless, it's the best that we all remain informed, one way or another. Whether we like it or not, the Reapers are well on their way to becoming major players in this city. That, or they might be ones already. Time will tell. Either way, I believe it would be in our best intentions if we all agreed to keep a close eye on the Reapers, and ensure that their growth does not become... an issue, for our businesses. Agreed?"

Kaiser rapped his iron-clad fist on the table decisively. "Agreed."

Trickster eyed the other villains uneasily before sighing despondently. "I still say you're nuts but... alright. I'm in."

Faultine scoffed and leaned back in her chair. "Whatever..."

"Then we have an agreement." Coil concluded. "Very well then. I believe that is everything. Goodnight to you all, and good hunting."

As the meeting began to wind down, none of the villains noticed a small pire of unearthly flames light up in the rafters of the bar before fading away.

 **-o-**

 _"_ _Goodnight to you all, and good hunting."_

The Composer hummed idly as she clicked the stop button on the tape recorder before handing it back to Psychedelic. "My my," She mused. "They seem rather energetic now, don't they?"

Grunge sighed heavily, slapping his hand to his face. "You're playing with fire, Composer."

"Aw come on, big guy!" Gangsta teased as she floated just above the rest of the group. "Sure, this shit is dangerous, but you gotta admit, it's fun!"

The bear-like Reaper's response was a depressed groan, which South answered by patting his friend on the back while he took a heavy swig from his bottle.

Chicago chuckled as he followed along. "Looks like things are getting interesting.

"Oh yeah, definitely!" Hip cheered.

"Place your bets, the games are about to begin!" Hop added.

The Composer laughed encouragingly for a moment before sighing heavily and leaning her head back to stare up at the sky. "Well, no matter how you cut it, things are about to get very serious. Guys?"

Almost instantly, the mood of the group shifted, with everyone standing up a bit straighter and paying just that much more attention.

"I'll put my ear to the ground in the PRT and tell you what comes up." Grunge grunted.

"I'll reroute Noise supplies, get everyone kitted out and ready to fight." South stated.

"I'll get some intel from a few friends in high places..." Chicago mused.

"And in the meantime!" Hip started.

"We'll bring in the word from the street!" Hop finished.

"I'll do my best to get everyone revved up and raring to go!" Gangsta exclaimed exuberantly.

Psychedelic brought his hands up before his mask and cracked his knuckles definitively.

The Composer smiled behind her scarf as she bowed her head, brought her hand up to her hat and tilted it downwards. "Well then... ready or not, Brockton Bay."

She looked up once anew, a determined spark in her eyes.

"The Reapers are going to war."


	10. Sonata 9

**Sonata 9**

 **-o-**

Taylor frowned and made a mental note that Jangle needed to oil the damn thing again as the rusty screech of the old gate breached even the elevated noise of her headphones when she pushed through into the little walkway leading to minimal backyard of the house. Discreet entrances should _not_ sound like she was beating a bag of cats for everyone else in the neighbourhood to hear. Still, it opened and closed easily enough and she was stepping over the old panel or shingle before she turned a corner and came to the the backyard itself.

It was in as bad a condition as the front, more a barren patch of off-brown dirt, barely eight feet by nine, spotted with what might have been a potted plant or two at some point before the elements got to them and reduced them to the odd pile of ceramic and plastic shards and shriveled weeds.. She mostly just shook her head at the sight and continued around till she came to the back door and fished out her key. It was an old key, spotted with rust, but it went in and turned easily enough as the old door swung open and admitted her into the kitchen without a sound.

At least Jangle kept _that_ in good shape, or else she might have other things to actually complain about.

As it stood, she dropped her backpack on the table and aimed a sideward kick at the generator, kicking the hunk of junk into gear and forcing the lights to flicker for a few seconds before turning on completely and revealing the same old, ramshackle, messed up room she was used to.

It _also_ revealed a suddenly paralyzed Gangsta sitting in one of the room's few chairs, an open bag of chips on her lap.

For a full minute, the two stared at each other in disbelief. Then, Gangsta slowly reached into the bag, withdrew a fistful of chips, and stuffed them into her mouth. The crunching sound of her slowly chewing on them seemed to fill the room.

Taylor groaned and slapped her hand to her face. "You've been waiting for someone to walk in so you could use that gag, haven't you?"

Gangsta's smile was obvious even behind her bandana. "What can I say? It's a classic."

"Har har." Taylor muttered tiredly as she drew a chair out from the table and sat down heavily in it. She then affixed her fellow Reaper with a cold glare. "Don't think that I've forgotten that little stunt you pulled, Aisha. Since we have the time, we're dealing with it here and now before you can think of a way to work your way out of it."

The darker girl put on the most pitiful face she could, specked with crumbs as she pushed her eyes to a watery limit. "Do we _really?_ It was a spur of the _moment-"_ She brought her hands together, near-begging. "-you know, an _emergency_. You can't really hold that against me, can you?"

Taylor returned the puppy-dog look with a deadpan gaze. "Yes. Yes I can. Easily."

Aisha slumped in surrender, sinking even deeper into her chair.

The Composer stood up from her chair and slowly started to pace around the table. "Aisha, you should _know_ how important a secret identity is. For God's sake, your _brother_ is a _supervillain! Not!"_ She raised her hand to ward off any protests. "That that is a factor here. What Grue does on his own time is his business. No, what _matters_ here is the ease with which you disclosed his identity to me. I understand that it was a critical situation, but that doesn't change how things turned out. You still gave up your brother's identity. Who's to say that you might not give up _mine_ next, hm?"

"WOAH!" Aisha yelped indignantly, scrambling to her feet. "Hell no, _hell! No!_ I would _never_ do that you, Taylor, never! Come on, you're my friend!"

The Composer slammed both her hands on the table, glaring at Aisha furiously. "And yet you intentionally looked into my identity!?"

"Fu-u-uck no!" Aisha snorted out. "Did you even hear a word I said when I asked for your help?"

"Considering how you were running your mouth a mile an hour on panic and desperation, is that a trick question?"

"Ah. Right. Anyways..." Aish began ticking off on her fingers. "We've got the usual Superman/Clark Kent never seen together thing going on, the fact that you both practically have music glued to your ears at all times, you draw and paint almost exactly the same... To put things simply, I didn't need to look, you gave it all up singlehandedly!"

The Composer spared a moment to mentally kick herself before slowly breathing out of her nose. "Well... fine. Still, you need to understand why my identity is important. Why I can't let the fact that Acoustic, Taylor and the Composer are one and the same. There is a good reason I keep them separate."

"Oh yeah?" Aisha needled. "Then what is it? I mean, come on! If the rest of the gang knew who you were under the admittedly cool masks, what's the worst that could happen?"

Taylor frowned back, crossing her arms. "First and foremost, it's because I want some separation between them. I am the _Composer_. I am _Acoustic._ But I am also still _Taylor._ " Her look softened somewhat. "Truth is, I'm not always sure I can handle what I am. I need to back away sometimes, gain a point of view. A reference for things and what I'm doing. I dove in not really knowing what I was doing, and now?"

She sighed running her hand through her hair. "Now, as much as I say I'm not, I'm a leader. The Reapers just started as me meeting someone who said they liked what I did. Then they started doing something similar. Now, now it's something so much _more_ that I'm responsible for."

The Composer slowly reopened her eyes, a cold hardness deep within them. "I won't delude myself Aisha. As much as I wish all Reapers were paragons of truth and freedom, at the core we're still the same: Human. Flawed. Corruptible. All it takes is an instance of greed, one drunken slip up at a bar... who would be worse, I wonder? The PRT, who would hunt me down across the country? The Empire, with all their resources? The ABB, especially with Lung and Bakuda on the loose? In the end it doesn't matter. The Composer is infamous, and if her name gets out, her life will become a living hell."

Taylor slowly lowered herself back into her seat, folding her hands under her chin. "That's why I wear a mask, Aisha. It's why Grue wears a mask, why you and the other Reapers wear masks, and why a lot of people called New Wave crazy for _not_ wearing masks. Are we clear?"

The teenage tagger stared at her somberly before nodding her head slowly. "Yeah. Yeah Taylor, I understand. This stays between you and me. I swear it, alright? I promise."

Taylor nodded approvingly, and headed towards the living room. As she passed the still-seated Aisha, she gave the girl a pat on the shoulder. "Alright." She said with a smile. "Finish eating, while I fill a few cans that came in the other night. After that, we can head to school."

Aisha just stared at her for a moment, before smiling tentatively and nodding.

"Oh, and get your algebra homework out. You're redoing it."

"Wha-!? But Boss-!"

"No buts, Aisha. You just showed several more IQ points, and as you know, that means your grades are going to change to reflect them. Hop to it, or I cut you off."

"Aww man... that'll teach me to act brainy..."

 **-o-**

"Worked as an attorney for Military Justice for around five to six years... Worked as a consult for the Arizona State Attorney General... Threw in his name for the judge's position in... in... _urgh!"_ Freestyle groaned tiredly and slammed her forehead into the keyboard. "This is pointless!"

"Oh?" Chicago leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at the exasperated ex-pop star. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"I- it's just- Come on!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "What the hell is digging up this guy's past going to tell us? Seriously, you're a professional hacker! You've found dirt on huge, untouchable corporate moguls tons of times! Why can't you just, I don't know, push a button and get this over with!?"

The Reaper rolled his eyes, obviously used to the protests. "Because that's not how it works Paige. It's not that easy."

"Then explain it to me!" The parahuman girl demanded. "Explain to me how this helps!"

Chicago regarded her silently for a moment before sighing heavily and turning his chair around to face her. "The world isn't just ones and zero. I can't just hack up my intel on a whim. I can collect data, sure. But in the end, we're looking up humans. I was a success not because I could get whatever info I wanted on someone by pushing buttons, but because I made what I had _count_. That means that we need to look find the _meaning_ of the data. Here, look." Chicago tapped on his keyboard, bringing up the faces of two men on Paige's screen.

"These are two of the conspirators responsible for your bogus trial: Avery Learner and Judge Joseph Cross. Learner is a pencil pusher for the Judicial branch. In the grand scheme of things, he's a nobody. Crosses the 't', dots the 'i', and makes sure the dinosaur they call a computer system doesn't go back to the stone age where it belongs. But for your trial? He was the one in charge of the jury pool. For whatever reason, he weighted the selection program so that a fair portion of those selected would be decidedly _not_ unbiased. Thanks to this being a Parahuman trial, all Parahuman involvement was completely denied, meaning that Dragon never caught on. From there, it would be up to the 'honorable' Judge Cross to vet the selected jurors and remove any potentially biased members. However, for whatever reason, instead of doing that, he removed the _un_ -biased members, leaving you with a jury set to convict."

"Yeah yeah, I know, I know..." Freestyle groused, running her hand through her feathered hair. "You already told me all this. So where does Cross's past factor in to all of this?"

"Simple." Chicago stood up, walked over to the computer, and moved his finger between the two photos. "It factors in because we need a connection between these two. For whatever reason, they moved things to make sure you went to jail. They didn't do that on a whim, someone _prompted_ them to do it. What we need is to draw a link between them and whoever did the prompting. And to do _that_ , we need to see how they connect to each other. Some place they crossed paths, an old relation. Something, anything that can give us a lead. Could be boyscouts, could be an old flame, could be anything. It's even possible that they never met before this, or someone set them up independant of each other, but the best chance is that they have a history somewhere. You would be surprised just how much is on paper somewhere, or in a computer. Even more so with what doesn't make it there sometimes. But if I know one thing about how these kind of things work, it's that they have a connection, someway, _somewhere._ And when we find that connection, we'll be one step closer to whoever wanted you to pay the ultimate price. And one step closer to making _them_ pay. Understand?"

Freestyle was silent for a second before sighing heavily and nodding in understanding. "I... Y-yeah, yeah. I understand."

"Good." Chicago grinned as his computer let out a noise. "Because I just got a ping."

"What!?" She shrieked and whipped around, staring at him in disbelief. "Really!? What is it?"

"Yup." Chicago's grin became predatory as he typed furiously at the computer. "Remember how the good judge was a military attorney? Well, he didn't leave by choice. He got caught handing out a sizable bribe. However, considering how the recipient of said bribe was wearing stars on his shoulders, the whole thing was hushed up and Cross was quietly let loose with a black mark."

Freestyle gasped in shock before she quickly turned back to her computer. "Learner was a programmer for the Airforce!"

Chicago nodded in agreement. "Oh yeah. And there's the connection. Both of these guys were military men. How much you want to bet that the guy on top was too?"

Freestyle didn't respond, too busy frantically pounding away at her keyboard.

Chicago let out a proud chuckle before joining her.

And with that, the two spent the rest of the day sifting through heap after heap of information.

 **-o-**

Colin carefully set down his tools and pushed away from his workbench, wiping his brow with one of the few rags he kept around his lab. In front of him, the latest incarnation of his armor lay in bits and pieces as he fine-tuned the newest upgrades. Most were simple quality-of-life improvements, tweaking the level of efficiency he could coax out of it. Others were the groundwork for the predictive-computing technology he was working on with Dragon, making sure his current designs were compatible with what he had planned.

In all, it would take him the better part of the day and most of the night to finish it without interruptions But with how things were, he didn't expect that to be the case. Chances were that before long another call would come in, and he would have to deal with another ABB attack somewhere in the city.

He turned away from the table with a sigh, pushing off to another part of his lab where he had an experiment setup. Hopefully, the calm would last long enough for him to try this at least.

Colin walked up to a large glass case. Inside was a table, upon which were a pair of paint cans, one decorated with gears and musical notes, the other with what appeared to be a frog's skull. Inlaid into the case's side was a pair of rubber gloves that could be used to reach within.

He had managed to obtain the cans by confiscating them from a Reaper about a week before. The Reaper had subsequently escaped, but he'd still managed to hang on to the cans. The next night, he'd been presented with a choice: replace every exterior piece of his motorcycle, or be flayed alive by Glenn for riding on his newly repainted ride. On the upside, it had given him a chance to overhaul his ride.

Colin absent-mindedly clicked a button on his toolbelt, activating his portable recorder. "The time is four in the afternoon. I am now starting experiment 24-Z-10, examination of the Reaper's paints. I have in my possession two types: one of them is the more common paint they utilize for their... 'art', while the other is used to summon the frog-like creatures they displayed while fighting the Azn Bad Boys and helping deal with the fallout from Bakuda's bombing spree. I will now attempt to utilize the common paint."

Colin stood next to the glass, slipping his arms into the gloves and grasping the gear-decorated can. He then held it up, pointed it at the opposite wall of the case, and depressing the nozzle. The can shook and shuddered slightly, letting out a choked, garbled sound like mud draining down a pipe followed by a stream of grey, foam-like and presumably foul-smelling ooze spurting out of the top.

The hero sighed wearily as he set the can back down, letting the mess spread across the table. "As predicted, the experiment was a failure." He cast an acidic glare over his shoulder at some visibly new paneling on his lab's wall. "Just like last time. Whatever means the Reapers use to prevent unauthorized use remains unclear, but it is definitely effective."

He removed his arm from the glove and stepped over to the one right next to it. He repeated the same gesture as before, reaching through the glove and grabbing the can. "Continuing experiment 24-Z-10, examination of Reaper paints, part two. This time, I will be using the seond brand of paint, designed to summon one of their creatures. This experiment will hopefully shed light on the nature, biology and origins of the strange beasts that help them, as well as the Composers own abilities."

With that, he pressed down on the nozzle.

The second verse was somewhat the same as the first, only far, _far_ more violent. The can shook and hissed, bucking against his hand as the tin started to bulge and dent outwards with audible _pings_ as the motions grew only more and more pronounced as the seconds ticked past.

Colin cursed angrily as he hastily tossed the can further into the case and hastily drew his hand out of the glove.

Not a second too soon, because moments later the can ruptured in a spray of dark color, metallic fragments and, oddly enough, some form of corporeal static that splattered and dinged against the plexiglass walls.

The hero breathed heavily for a second, reorienting himself a bit before looking into the case which had thankfully held firm. He then cursed violently, wishing he didn't.

Inside the case something that was most _definitely_ not a frog. In fact, it didn't even look remotely like _anything!_ The closest resemblance was an oversized amoeba, if amoeba had extending limbs made of twisted, misshapen tattoos, a maw of mismatched teeth and was colored in a hue of dark, mottled colors. It made a noise that combined the sickest, most disturbing parts of a growl, a croak and a hiss and giving them a moist undertone.

"Son of a..." Colin growled before hastily swallowing and steeling his nerves. "It... appears that in the improper hands, Reaper paints can be slightly... volatile."

He jumped as the creature suddenly slammed its mass into the wall of the case. He cursed again when he saw a small crack begin to form in the reinforced glass.

"Correction," He breathed heavily. _"_ _Very, very_ volatile." And with that, he whipped his arm out and slammed his forearm into a button on the wall.

Several vents opened on the floor of the case. There was a slight hiss of gas before the case was flooded with flames. The creature let out a final, dying screech before collapsing in on itself and dissolving back into the static it originated from.

Colin stared at the cage in silence for a moment before shaking his head despondently. "Right then... note to self: ensure that Director Piggot gets the order out to all PRT Troopers that under no circumstances should they utilize Reaper cans. The best options I can think of are either permanent storage along with other illicit Parahuman products, or out and out destruction."

The hero dusted himself off and started walking into his lab. "Anyways. Moving on to Experiment 24-Z-11."

 **-o-**

Coil folded his hands together above his desk, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the hard metal.

He was staring intently at the little girl shifting uncomfortably in the seat before him.

The supervillain closed his eyes, steeled his nerves...

 _And the world split in two._

 _Coil opened his eyes and stared at the girl before him. "Chance that the Reapers will be a boon to my operations in the future."_

 _The girl flinched imperceptibly, rubbing her forehead vigorously. "30.345 percent chance. C-can I have some of that candy that helps with the headaches?"_

 _Coil waved her concerns off. "Two more, Dinah, just two more. Now then... chance that the Reapers will be a_ hindrance _to my operations."_

 _Dinah's breathing hitched slightly as she screwed her eyes shut. "85- no, 87.985 percent. Please, it_ hurts-"

 _"_ _One more, just one more." Coil closed his eyes in thought. "Chance of me being able to_ convince _them to help me?"_

 _Dinah groaned painfully as she clutched at her head. "Somewhere a-around 15 percent._ Pleeeease..."

 _Coil sucked in his breath, scrunching his eyes shut. The world shuddered slightly..._

And reconciled into one.

Coil didn't even open his eyes. He merely kept them shut, concentrated...

 _And let the world be divided again._

 _Coil bowed his head in thought. "Chance of me being able to persuade an_ individual _Reaper to pass me information. "_

 _Dinah scratched at her arm uncomfortably. "Um... about... 30 percent? Give or take half a percent. Please, can I have some-?"_

 _"_ _In a moment, my dear. Now... Chance that I can beat the Reapers into submission with the troops I have?"_

 _"_ _47.88 percent. It really hurts,_ please-!"

 _"_ _Just one more, just one. Now then... Chance that I can beat them with the aid of the Travelers and Undersiders?"_

 _"_ _Erk-! 10.65! Stop, please stop-!"_

 _Coil snapped his head up and stared at Dinah in surprise, ignoring her pleas._

 _A quick moment of concentration..._

And two became one again.

Coil leaned forwards towards Dinah, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Chances that I can beat the Reapers with the Travelers helping me?"

"Fifty... fifty something, it's hard to tell..." Dinah bit her lip hesitantly.

Coil tapped his fingers on his desk thoughtfully before he finally decided on a good question.

"Chance that the Composer is holding back her powers?"

Dinah fingers dug into the seat of her chair. "98.68 percent. M-mister Coil-"

"One last question, Dinah." Coil leaned in closer, his posture becoming ever so slightly more hunched. "What... is the chance that the Composer can be defeated if she goes all-out?"

Dinah's breathing accelerated dramatically. "5.3 percaargh!" Dinah flung herself back into her chair, clutching at her head. "Please... _please!"_

Coil brought his hand under his desk and pressed a hidden button. He ignored Dinah's flailing, merely leaning back into his seat, contemplating the information he'd been given, digesting it a bit at a time as he thought.

Why were the chances of defeating the Reapers higher than if the Composer would use her full strength? It was something he had realized early on that she was holding back, restraining herself for some reason. It was actually quite common: most powerful capes usually kept a trump card up their sleeves. Some aspect or utilization of their out of sight till they needed it. But at the same time, there were few capes out there that so completely obscured their powers like the Composer did.

He was one of them.

And all he knew did so not just because they merely wanted a winning card on hand in a fight. They did it because they had a plan. Some aspect to their personal desires or goals that profited by being perceived weaker than they were, some active benefit they gained from acting inferior.

So what was the Composer's? What could the woman who freely gave everything to others possibly have to gain? She was a mystery. The Reaper's formation was identical to a gang, yet none of the standard operations of one. The Composer was clearly the founder and leader, but she didn't act like one. Where he could know what Lung or Kaiser intended by following the motions of the E88 or the ABB.

But the Reapers... the Reapers were fluid. Vapid. Intangible. A variable.

And variables... variables were hard to plan around.

Ah well. At least he knew one thing for certain: if you couldn't plan how something would react, then don't.

Dispose of it. Permanently.

 **-o-**

Sabah sighed as Claudia opened her mouth with a look of inspiration on her face, and pre-emptively cut her off. "No. Just no. What is the deal with the Reapers and musical themes anyways? Why can't I just keep my cape name?"

The older woman sighed, leaning into her palm. "Well, I suppose if I tell you, you might stop shooting down everything I suggest, dear." She sat up straight in her seat, raising a finger in a teacherly way. "The whole 'deal' started with the Composer shortly after she met her first fan. When asked how she was painting, she responded that the best way she could describe it was 'with noise'. When the first Reaper joined her, she suggested they recreate themselves to celebrate. The Reaper looked around and upon noticing the Composer's apparent love for music chose a name based on their own taste for it. From there, it became a sort of custom. Reapers name themselves after whatever music fits them best. Hip and Hop are jumpy and energetic, South is calm and relaxed, Gangsta is... well, not to speak ill of my allies, but let's just say that she and the word 'polite' haven't held company in a long time. It's a matter of self-description. Reapers take their name based on what they feel best says who they are. Musical names are just a sort of tradition from then on."

"So couldn't I just demonstrate my, I don't know, sense of liberty by _breaking_ tradition?" Sabah asked sarcastically.

"You cooould..." Claudia drawled. "And you could also kiss your fashion designer career goodbye when you finally unmask too."

Sabah paled drastically and tugged on her collar uneasily as she processed what her friend had said. "Good point... so, you were saying? And not something I can't pronounce."

Claudia smiled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Well, I was about to suggest Waltz. A very artistic, flowing music. I think it would suit you."

The younger girl gnawed at her lip, running it through her head. "I just don't….it sounds too _fancy._ And all the other Reapers seem to be more…"

Claudia nodded. "More modern?"

The Parahuman shrugged her shoulders shyly in agreement.

"Then so be it! I mean, come on! I go by the name of Chanson and wear a _toga._ If they won't mock me for _that_ , then they won't mock you for _anything_."

Sabah sighed, burying her face in her hands in exasperation. "I just...I just don't think I should change my name. I'm so used to going by Parian, and now I have to pick an entirely new name?"

Claudia patted her friend on the back comfortingly. "Ah well. It's a necessity. After all, anything worth doing isn't anywhere near easy. But, as the description implies, it is most _definitely_ worth doing."

Sabah dragged her hands down her face and just looked at the piece of paper and the list of crossed out names on it. It was a fairly long list, as they had been at this for awhile now. "What am I even going to do once I sort this out? I don't have a single idea what I should do as a Reaper. What do they do when they aren't out there painting?"

The elegant Reaper stood up and spread her arms extravagantly. "There is a _multitude_ of activities we indulge in! Sometimes we just enjoy each other's company, discussing our day to day lives or planning out our future _oeuvres d'art,_ playing and betting on different games which we... _augment_ through the usage of Noise, or just sharing a drink. Or we just train, hone our finesse at summoning the Noise or handling Melodies. Others still run little activities for us outside of the Reapers proper. For example, Chicago and Grunge's intelligence gathering, Hip and Hop's seemingly neverending supply of paint cans, so on and so forth. Honestly now, there a hundred and one things for a Reaper to do!" Claudia flashed an eager smile at Sabah. "One thing is guaranteed: you'll never be bored."

Her younger, newly minted Reaper companion raised an eyebrow. "You know, you sound like an old recruitment commercial. It's kinda surprising really. I've talked to people who tell me that you're all like a bunch of secretive hipsters. Seriously, do you have any idea how shocked I was when I found out that _you_ were a Reaper!?"

Claudia smiled distantly, seemingly remembering a fond memory. "Well, I do remember the look on your face when I walked in and told you. I somewhat regret not having a camera with me then…"

Sabah scowled. "And you proceeded to act all serious and aloof for the next five minutes till you broke down laughing."

The stylish Reaper outright grinned. "Well, it was _funny._ One should laugh at things that are _funny."_

"Bite me." Sabah growled. "So anyways, mind telling me _why_ people think that you're all, and I repeat, _hipsters?"_

Claudia just scoffed and waved her hand. "That's just the people who don't think we're a cult, secret society, gang, or anything that somehow ranks _below_ all that."

The girls eyebrows twitched. "Just…. _tell me_ …"

Claudia grimaced and shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? Every time there's a large gathering of normal people around a Parahuman, everybody automatically thinks 'Well! Guess they're bad!' And considering the track record, I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, The Fallen, Heartbreaker... it's an all too common trend. Ergo, a _lot_ of people think the worst of us, seeing us as vandals, rapscallions, all _sorts_ of terrible things!"

Sabah twitched again, this time even more violently. "I'll give you the benefit of assuming that those accusations are totally unfounded, yes?"

Claudia stopped for a moment, blinking before nodding. "Well, for the most part, yes. We are somewhere between a gang and a society of sorts. We've tried to describe ourselves before, but there is nothing else that really _fits._ As poetic as it seems the moniker 'family' isn't publicly accepted, asit tends to indicate the very names we're trying to _avoid_ , so..."

She shrugged indifferently. "Luckily enough, not everyone is so short-sighted. For everyone that fears us, two more admire us, _appreciate_ our art. And every once in awhile, we find people working on their own, putting up their own works hoping, _hoping_ to catch our attention and join our ranks. And every once in awhile... we go to them, and we extend an invitation. Heck, sometimes we do it with people who _aren't_ trying to join, such as you!"

The look on Sabah's face was actually honestly curious at that. "But...everyone says you got this whole insanely complex endorsement system and hoops you have to jump through to join. You got to get a Reaper to invite and vouch for you, and…" She stopped for a second. "And you sorta just pulled me to a party, and all of a sudden I'm a Reaper."

Claudia nodded. "Well, that is how it works to a degree. You _do_ have to get a Reaper to invite and vouch for you to the others, but generally it's more like an apprentice system. A Reaper will take a proposal to a senior Reaper, get permission to bring the invitee in, and from there... well, you lived the rest." There was a sort of pause as she look at her young friend, before something clicked in her mind and she nodded, more to herself than anyone else. "How about we take a break, and see what we can do with some of those cans I brought over?"

Sabah nodded eagerly in agreement. "What do you have?"

The older Reaper grinned and dug into her bag, drawing out a pair of cans. "A nice can of Carcinosamps _and_ , and this one is the kicker, had to pay those frightening little monsters through the _nose_ to get it, a _Rock 'n Roll Rip-Tooth_. The first was easy enough, just had to toss someone a Boomer, but the second, ehhh... Shanty's always held my quip about him reeking of fish against me, so there was nowhere else I could get one."

"Oooh." Sabah leaned in, taking in the crab and shark engravings on the cans. "What do they do?"

"The Carcino is a crab-shaped Noise that has a particularly unique claw which functions as a boomerang whiltst the Rip-Tooth is a rare full-body Melody. It makes one _quite_ the expert in the water. A shark-based frogman, if you will."

"Hmm..." The Parahuman reached out and took ahold of the Melody can, looking over it curiously. Her eyebrows then shot up as a thought suddenly struck her. She looked up at Claudia, a spark of inspiration in her eyes. "Claudia, let me ask you something: why are Melodies and Noise never permanent? Why do they only last if they're tattoos?"

Claudia leaned back in surprise, shocked at her friend's sudden enthusiasm. "Er... because they're paint. Tattoos last, but paint, no matter how much we wish it didn't will eventually wash away, taking the initial design from which the Melody and Noise originated with it. The only way to safeguard them is in one's skin."

"No it isn't!" Sabah quickly stood up, grabbed a shirt and waved it in front of Claudia's face, her smile all but splitting her face. "Paint and art can last forever on _here!"_

Claudia stared at her dumbly for a second before gasping in shock, her jaw all but unhinging. "Sabah, darling..." She choked out. "If this works... the Composer herself will pull as many strings as possible to fund you for _life!"_

Sabah let out a slightly manic giggle as her smile widened even further. "Then we better get started!"

And with that, she whipped around and flew into her studio, Claudia mere steps behind her.

 **-o-**

 _"_ _Heeelloooo people of Brockton Bay! We're on the waves and in the tunes, fighting to keep this city honest and true! From us to you, it's the Reaper Review! I'm your host, DJ Chiptune, and sadly enough I've got some bad news. See, before I can get to the really good stuff, I'm gonna have to chat with my other Reaper brothers and sisters in private. Everyone, head over to channel Sprog-9 for a sec."_

All across the cities, dials and buttons were turned and pressed until radios were properly tuned to the right frequency.

 _"_ _Alright everyone, here's the deal: The Boss has been in contact with the other badguys. Now I know that some of you want to piss and moan, but for now? Save it. Either we work with them or the ABB turns the Bay into a pile of ashes. And personally? I'll take fighting by a skinhead over that any day. Anyways, the Boss and the others have drawn up an attack plan. Participation is, of course, completely optional, but we'd appreciate it if you showed up. So! Here's how it's going to go down..."_


	11. Sonata 10

**Sonata 10**

The Composer was silent as she stared out over the assembled Reapers.

There were about thirty Reapers in all present in South's bar, not including herself and Grunge, Gangsta, South, Chicago, Psycho and Hip and Hop. The eight of them were standing on the bar's stage, over-looking their assembled friends.

However, unlike a normal night, things were quiet. Silent, almost, save for a scant few mutterings here and there.

Finally, she glanced at her comrades standing at her sides before raising a hand and silencing the room instantly.

The Composer was decked out in a set of jungle-camouflage styled SWAT armor. Labeled across her back were the words 'Freedom Fighter' in scratchy graffiti-style letters. She had heavy-knuckled fingerless gloves on her hands, and thick-soled boots on her feet. She was wearing a SWAT helmet with the visor flipped up. Beneath, she was wearing a mouthless ski-mask, meeting her comrades eye-to-eye as she observed them.

"Thank you all for coming," she stated simply, "I realize that this was not an easy decision for you all to make. I ask that none of you deride or speak out against those who have decided not to come tonight. It was their decision, and whatever choice they make is theirs and a fully valid one. I will not look down on those who feel fear at the prospect of tonight's events. Clear?"

The assembled vandals and rebels all gave varying signs of assent and understanding.

"Good. Now then..." She glanced over at Chicago. "If you would?"

The info-broker nodded solemnly. He brought his right arm out of his hoodie, pointing a plastic remote in his hand at the roof of the bar and clicking a button in it. With a mechanical whirr, a white screen slowly descended down from the roof. A second click, and an overhead map of Brockton Bay was displayed on the screen.

Chicago replaced the remote and took out a laser pointer, using it to indicate a point on the map near the Docks. "Alright people, listen up. It took some doing, but between me and Hip and Hop, we've ascertained three major storehouses of ABB firepower. This right here? Drug repository. Lots of soldiers, lots of guns. Also, some chatter of a cape hanging out here, could be Oni Lee. Me, Psychedelic, Kaiser, Fenja and Menja, Bitch, Sundancer, Newter and Labyrinth and two of Coil's goons'll be hitting this place."

He moved the laser to a location deeper in the city. "This right here? Barracks. More guns 'n goons then elsewhere. Difference here? None of these guys are 'recruits'. Hardcore gang-bangers, every last one of them. Far, _far_ from an easy mark. That's why Grunge, Southern and the Twins'll be there, alongside Cricket, Othala, Victor, Spitfire, Grue, Ballistic and three more of Coil's.

"And finally..." He moved the laser again and began circling a location definitively. "This right here is the _prize._ Two words for you: Bakuda's. Lab. No ifs ands or buts about it. Heavily fortified, heavily guarded. You've all no doubt heard the old rumors about how Tinker labs are proof of Darwin's theories? Well, they're all true. Attacking Bakuda in here would be suicide. Ergo, it comes as no surprise that this assault will consist of the boss, Gangsta, Tattletale, Faultline, Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Trickster and Genesis, and _five_ snake-funded thugs."

Chicago sighed wearily as he pocketed the laserpointer and retracted the screen. "The rest of the villains and their gangs will be out and about, hitting lesser safehouses, stashes, so on and so forth. But for now, that's what our heavy troops are doing. What _we'll_ be doing is dividing everyone up to go out with us. So, who's up for comin' with me and the loony?"

He barely flinched when the fox-themed Reaper flashed up behind him and delivered a light slap up the back of his head.

Several Reapers raised their arms, signalling their interest.

"Alright, let's see, that's Synth, Crunk, Dirge, Anarcho, Indie, Reggae, Swing and Neo. Alright, that's good enough for me. Next up, the bear, the pig and the weasel twins."

"GET BENT, DOG-BREATH!"

A few Reapers chuckled sardonically as they raised their arms.

"Jangle, Shanty, Mariachi, Cajun, Franco, JPop, Honky Tonk and Cabaret. Okay, that's eight. So those who are left..."

"Canto."

Chicago looked up in surprise when the Composer spoke out solemnly.

"Drone. Bluegrass. Industrial. Acid. Ska. Country. Funk. Thrash. Screamo. Jig. Soul. Italo. Bebop. Euro." She looked at each one pointedly as she named them. "This is by far the most dangerous mission we have. I cannot guarantee your safety, as much as I wish I could. Are you certain, _beyond_ certain that this is your final choice?"

Silence reigned over the bar until finally a singled hoodied Reaper stood up. Canto.

"Those sons of bitches tried to press-gang me," He stated in a dull, dead tone. "They tried to force me to join. And if they'd succeeded... I'd have a bomb in my head too. The Reapers saved me. I owe a debt, and I intend to fulfill it by planting my boot in Bakuda's face. _Nothing_ is going to change that." And with that, he sat down.

The Composer nodded stiffly. "Well, alright then. Now, unless anyone has anything they want to say..."

"Actually..."

Attention was shifted to a Reaper lazing back in his chair. The man in question was completely bald, wearing a beat-up old duster jacket with several holes in it, a bandanna and a pair of orange aviator glasses. "There's somethin' I want to say."

The Composer nodded in acknowledgement. "Anarcho."

The hard-worn rebel sat up in his seat, tapping his fingers away on his table. "First... I wanna make something clear. When I joined the Reapers, I was... curious. See, I'd seen Parahuman gangs rise and fall, so I thought, eh, fuck it. Might as well join and see what it's like on the upswing, get out when things start to go bad.

"But... the thing is... things never actually _went_ bad. They just kept getting better. No big crime, no violence... good times abound. And then, when we finally, _finally_ start going big... you turn it right around into something _good_ again. Something that I can _still_ get behind. See this?" He rapped his knuckles on the table definitively. "This isn't some normal gang. It's something totally _unique._ And as such..." He cracked his back as he stood up from the table. "I've decided to throw my whole weight behind it. All in."

He gestured with his fingers, the movement causing a Grizzly carrying a pair of large crates on its shoulders to march in from a back room and set the wooden boxes on the stage. Anarcho strode up to the stage, climbing onto it easily enough.

"Now then!" He announced plainly. "Let me tell ya'll somethin'. Something private that, if it leaves leaves this room, I will _personally_ make each and every last one of you suffer for," He breathed in and out heavily before bowing my head. "I am related to a Parahuman. My nephew, to be specific. He's a good boy, very polite. Chicago, I'm almost certain you've heard of him. His name... is Dodge."

The red-hooded Reaper shot his elder a shocked look. "As in _pocket dimension Toybox Tinker_ Dodge?!"

Anarcho nodded definitively. "That's him. Now... I'm also friends with his mentor, Pyrotechnical. Rambunctious fella, but he's alright. Now, Pyro is good at three things: Fire, special effects... and guns. See... after we decided to do this, after I personally supported moving against the gangs, I put in a call to the Toybox. Called in a few favors with them. Asked the two to work together to put together a helluva rush-hour order for me."

A gesture from him had the Grizzly tearing the top off of one of the crates.

"Because if we're going to fight a war..."

He reached in... and pulled out a gun.

"We're gonna need weapons."

The Composer and practically all Reapers present tensed visibly at the sight of the weapon.

"Dude..." Gangsta breathed incredulously.

"Hooboy." South stated succinctly, lowering his stetson over his eyes.

"Sonnova-!" Grunge growled angrily.

"Anarcho." The Composer said quietly, a dark undertone to her voice.

"Oh lighten up, will you all?" The older Reaper rolled his eyes tiredly. In a single move, he whipped a can of Sound out of his jacket and rammed it into a slot at the butt of the gun, parallel with its barrel. "It's a _paintball_ gun, see?"

The Reapers simultaneously let out a breath of relief.

"Aw c'mon, guys! I was _just_ extolling how great it is we're not like other gangs! Do you _really_ think I'd be the one to push us over the edge?!"

"Weeeeell..." Hip tilted her hand back and forth noncommittally. "You _do_ have a bit of a violent streak in you."

"What!? Says who!?"

"Says Trance's broken jaw!" Hop piped up.

The Reaper's eye twitched a bit before he crossed his arms definitively. "In my defense, that son of a sprog was counting cards."

"Alright, we're getting a bit off track here," The Composer cut them off. "Anarcho, care to explain these... donations of yours to us?"

Anarcho nodded in agreement. "Fair 'nuff. Now..." He pointed out the juncture between the gun and the Sound can. "See, what Dodge did was give Pyro room to work his magic by putting an itty-bitty pocket dimension inside the gun, thus letting him put in all the mechanisms needed for this to work. I don't totally understand how it works, but basically, it takes Sound, any kind of Sound..."

He hefted the gun up, took aim and pulled the trigger five times in rapid succession. Across the room, five balls of pure color splattered against the wall.

"And turns it into ammo. _Non-lethal_ ammo, but it definitely packs a hell of a punch. We're gonna need an edge in this fight. This is it."

Hip and Hop examined the crate closely before shooting a suspicious look at Anarcho.

"There's gotta be at least forty guns in here..."

"And tinker-tech weapons, no matter how simple, do _not_ come cheap! What's the catch?"

The dusty Reaper glanced between them warily before shrugging. "Got a sweet deal. First batch is at a steep discount, but any subsequent repairs or orders are full-price. If we want anything else, we'll probably need a donation pool or whatever. But honestly?" He hefted the gun he was holding. "I'd say it's a worthwhile investment. Whaddaya say guys?"

The Composer hummed lightly, looking around the stage.

Gangsta was bouncing on the balls of her feet, giggling eagerly.

Chicago was looking Anarcho over, clearly reassessing him.

Grunge had his arms crossed and was muttering darkly under his breath.

South had his hands patiently folded behind the back of his head in a casual manner.

Hip and Hop were hefting guns out of the crate and looking them over eagerly.

And Psychedelic... when he noticed her looking at him, he merely gave her an exaggerated shrug.

The Composer looked Anarcho over a final time before nodding with finality. "Lock and load, everyone."

And with that, the Reapers streamed forwards, each taking up a gun and loading in cans, feeling their weights and looking them over intently.

However, when the Composer started to move towards the crate, Anarcho stuck an arm out to stop her. "One sec, boss."

The teenage Parahuman raised an eyebrow at him, waving for him to go on.

Anarcho started to amble towards the other crate his Grizzly had brought in.

"See... you might not _call_ yourself the boss. Might not call yourself superior. And neither do the others. But the fact is, you _are_ the boss, and they _are_ our leaders, your inner circle. We all acknowledge it, and we're all happy with it. They damn well _deserve_ it. So... I decided to go the extra mile..."

A gesture and the Grizzly ripped the second crate's top off.

"And show you just how much we appreciate you all."

The Composer and her comrades crowded around the crate, looking into it curiously.

"Sweet. Mother. Of God." South breathed, slowly crossing himself.

" _HELL YEAH!"_ Gangsta cried out, shooting her hand into the crate and withdrawing a large Desert Eagle semi-auto pistol, ravens embossed along the handle and barrel. "This is _siiiick!"_ She sang eagerly, all but worshipping the weapon.

"Well... This is..." Chicago could barely hide his grin as he hefted a sniper rifle with a wolf embossed along the length of the gun. "Certainly impressive."

South chuckled joyfully as he cocked a shotgun with a pig's snout impressed into the handle. "Awww, it's just like I'm back home on the ranch in Texas!"

"This is practically reputation _suicide!"_ Grunge burst out in frustration.

"Oh really?" South queried. "So you're gonna back out?"

"I-!"

"Ah, shut up and hold this!" Gangsta heaved out a large grenade launcher that had perpendicular scratch-marks impressed into it and shoved it into Grunge's hands. "Now, look into its barrel and _tell_ me that you don't wanna keep it!"

"... damn you."

"Awww! Grunge found true love!" Hip squealed impishly.

"But then again, _so did we!"_ Hop cackled as he and his sister hefted their twin uzis, both embossed with mirrored minks on the handles.

Psycho gazed inquiringly at the AK-47 he held in his hands, examining the fox-tails that ran along its length. Finally, he nodded once, an air of content about him.

Finally, the Composer slowly reached into the crate and retrieved a small, boxy assault rifle. "And this would be?"

"P90 Assault Rifle," Anarcho informed her gruffly. "Latest edition. Nothing like it before now. Just like you," he looked at the rest of the Reapers. "It might not look it, but they're modded out so that you can easily fit in a can where the ammo should go. As for you, boss... just fill up the chamber."

The Composer stared at Anarcho blankly. "This is more than I can accept."

"Well, I won't let you refuse, so we're at an impasse. For now... I'd say that we'd best get moving, no?"

The Parahuman slowly swept her gaze out over the Reapers.

Her Reapers.

"What do you say, people? Are we ready?"

The Reapers cried out in agreement, toting their new weapons in the air and activating their tattoos. Anarcho grinned eagerly from behind his bandanna as his back lit up and an array of spikes shot through the holes in his jacket.

"Well... in that case..."

The Composer flipped her helmet's visor down and cocked her gun definitively.

"Lock and load."

 **-o-**

It was eerily silent as the Composer, Gangsta and the rest of her followers marched into the alleyway, calmly meeting the cold glares of the soldiers and neo-Nazis that had arrived before them.

"Took your time, Composer," Trickster called out calmly. He was standing next to what appeared to be a giant, twenty-foot long anaconda with the legs of a centipede.

"Just needed to make sure we were prepared," she responded coolly. "I'm assuming we're good to go?"

"Not quite," Hookwolf growled gruffly. He nodded condescendingly at the other Reapers. "You've brought too many with you. Send them away. Now."

"Not even if you promised to keel over and die, dogbreath," Gangsta deadpanned flatly.

The Empire cape snarled furiously, while Stormtiger took a taunting step forwards. "Shut your mouth, n-!"

Cl-click!

He was cut off by the half-dozen gun-barrels pointed at his face.

"Consider your following words _very_ carefully, got it?" Canto warned calmly.

Before anyone could protest, the Composer raised a hand. "Now now, that's enough. I'm sure that Stormtiger is planning on being _very_ polite from now on, aren't you, Stormtiger?"

The neo-nazi Parahuman shook visibly with repressed fury before finally slowly nodding jerkily.

"Compensating for anything, Composer?" Hookwolf taunted weakly, desperately attempting to save face.

"Yes, the fact that two of the people I'm working with tonight are morally corrupt ne'er-do-wells and five of them work for the certifiably _least_ trustworthy person in the city. As such, I thought it best to enter this conflict well-armed and with sufficient back-up." The Composer deadpanned flatly.

The villains and mercs exchanged cold glares with the Reapers, the tension escalating well into glacial levels. Finally, it broke when Tattletale clapped her hands together carelessly. "Alright then!" She chirped cheerily, grinning with ill-suppressed glee as she watched the conflict. "Now that we're through with the pleasantries, how about we all get in touch with our friends and assure them that there's no reason to tear each other to pieces, m'kay?"

The staring contest continued for a second before Hookwolf, one of the mercs, and the Composer reached into their pockets simultaneously, withdrawing their phones and dialing numbers. Tattletale chuckled giddily as she followed their lead, Faultline glaring at her and Trickster eyeing her warily as they also called their teammates.

"Yeah boss, we're ready to go... Yeah, fifteen, not counting the Composer and the brat... paintball guns, but its alot of 'em. Looks like they're custom, too."

"Yes, Kaiser... Understood, Kaiser. Sir, I'd just like to say-!... yes. Yes sir, that's... I-I understand, Kaiser. I-it won't happen again..."

"Newter? Is she-? Alright, that's good. Keep an eye on her, alright?... look, just do me a favor and try and stay close to the Reapers, got it?"

"-Nonono, you li- _listen to me!_ I am in charge, and I make the plans. We are doing this, no matter what, we _have to!_ Think about- look, we'll talk about this later, just follow your orders."

"A-Kiwi... Oh yeah, definitely! Don't worry about me, this is going to be _fun!_...Alright, maybe a bit too enthusiastic. Look, just stay by the Reapers, alright? Yes, I know they're armed, but it's nothing _too_ serious!... really? Alright, stay by Grunge and South, they're the more stable ones there. Other then that, lighten up!"

"Chicago? Grunge?"

 _"Speaking." "Boss."_

"Put me on speaker," The Composer waited for a second before raising her voice so that everyone present could hear her. "Alright everyone, listen up! No matter what, stay smart, stay calm, and stay safe. Watch each other's backs, don't get separated, and above all else..." She directed a pointed glare at Hookwolf and Stormtiger. "Don't get caught in any _unfortunate accidents."_

Quite tellingly, the Empire capes and Coil's mercenaries paled visibly, looking as though their graves had been trodden upon. Judging by the silence coming from their phones, this reaction was being repeated across the city.

"Are. We. Clear." The Composer glared at each of them firmly in turn, until they all looked away. She then lowered her voice. "Well?"

 _"Judging by the way Kaiser is crushing his phone, I'd say we hit the nail full on the head."_

 _"Same here. Cricket, Victor, Othala and the snakes are keeping their distance."_

"Glad to hear it. If anything untowards happens, call me. Clear?"

 _"Yup." "Clear."_

"Good. Good luck, and stay safe." And with that, she hung up. She glanced around the assembled Parahumans and mercenaries meaningfully a final time before nodding decisively. "Alright, _now_ are we ready to go?"

Gangsta cackled happily as she rammed a can into the butt of her gun. "This is gonna rock!"

 **-o-**

"This _sucks!"_ Gangsta yelped as she pumped her wings furiously, barely catching herself from hitting the ground and redirecting her fall in order to land on a nearby desk. "Damn it all, Trickster, stop doing that!"

The leader of the Travelers scoffed as he desperately clung onto his teammate's body as it kept itself suspended above the floor. "Fuck off, brat! At least _you_ can fly! If I'd touched the ground, we'd _all_ be up in smoke! Or worse!"

"Knock it off, you two!" The Composer ordered tersely. Currently, she was crouching on her desk, eight jellyfish-like tentacles sprouting from her back. Each tentacle was clutching an object with a reflective surface, utilizing them to redirect red beams of light around the room. "Tattletale, Faultline, where are we?"

"Umm..." Tattletale bit her thumb nervously as she peered through a panel in the wall at an array of cables and wires. Faultline was crouched down beside her, scowling angrily at her. "The... blue wire? No, the red one!"

"Damn it Tattletale, this isn't the time for games!" The mercenary cape snarled.

"You think I don't know that!? I know _exactly_ what this thing will do to us if it goes off, I want to disarm it as much as you! But arrogant as she is, Bakuda is still _crazy_ smart! This thing is fucking _randomizing_ the purpose of the wires! I d- _goons!"_

Gangsta and the Composer brought their guns up and pelted one of the room's doorways with a hail of paint, driving away a pair of ABB members before they could poke their guns in.

"So much for the others keeping them off us," Trickster groused morosely.

"Hey, back off!" Gangsta protested as she swapped out the cans in her gun, making sure to pocket the empty one. "Our guys are doing their best! If they're getting through, it's because those damn nazis and mercs- no offense, Faulty- are screwing around!"

"Less complaining, more suppressing fire!" The Composer ordered.

Gangsta snarled darkly, slamming in a new can of Sound and raising the pistol. "I sure hope that the others are doing better than we are!"

 **-o-**

"The others had damn well be having a better time with this than we are!" Grunge huffed darkly.

"Less complaining!" Hip called out, popping a can of paint out from her gun.

"And more blasting!" Hop finished, popping his head over the hood of the car he and his sister were hiding behind and unleashing a salvo of paintballs. He was then forced to hastily lower himself as a spray of bullets rocketed through where he'd been.

"Well _this_ is a fine mess we're in..." South muttered vehemently.

An understatement, to say the least. Currently, the villains and ABB gang members were engaged in a vicious, all-out street war. Currently, the Reapers and their tenuous allies were cornered at a T-junction, surrounded on all sides by the ABB. The initial assault had been succesful, fast and vicious enough to rock the ABB back on their heels. Then, things had gone to hell. The ABB had retaliated with numbers and firepower to spare, producing a near obscene amount of foot soldiers and firepower.

The villains had been forced into a hard retreat until they'd managed to shove a few cars into position to act as makeshift cover. From there, they'd been forced to hunker down as bullets flew around them. Miraculously, no one had yet been seriously hurt, thanks to a combination of thick-skinned Noise acting as bullet shields and Othala being pressed into granting regenerative abilities to anyone who happened to get hit.

Still, chances were that sooner or later their luck would change.

"I don't suppose anyone would happen to have any bright ideas to get us out of this situation?" South grunted, racking his shotgun before firing it at the multitude of ABB members that were down the street before hastily slamming his back against the van he was hiding behind.

"I thought that you Reapers were supposed to be the prodigal, undefeated lords of the street?" Victor snarked, taking aim and blowing out an ABB gunman's kneecap with a sniper rifle with surreal ease. Suddenly, he snapped his head to the left, body tense. "Grenade incoming!"

Almost instantly, Hip ripped a can out of her belt and sprayed the ground. In a flash of static, a winged mink met the orb of metal midair, catching it with its tail and slapping it high into the air where it detonated relatively harmlessly. Seconds later, the Noise jerked violently as several bullets impacted it before it finally faded back into static.

Hop let out a barrage of paint before shooting a grin at Victor. "Thanks! So, think we can wrap this up soon? There's a new episode of Family Guy tonight!"

"Are you _serious!?"_ Ballistic demanded incredulously.

"He's _always_ serious about Family Guy, believe me," Hip groaned in mock misery.

"What can I say? I connect with Stewie on a deep, personal level!"

Grunge and South exchanged blank looks before simultaneously rolling their eyes.

"That explains _so_ much," South muttered as he popped out an empty can and reloaded a fresh one.

"Tell me about it," Grunge groused, calling out a Circle Pit Grizzly and directing it to add material to one of the ramshackle barriers.

"Ergh!" Ballistic grunted in disbelief, crouching down as he started to collect stray pieces of metal. "Idiots! Seriously, who comes to a fight with nothing but worthless _paintball_ guns!?"

"Ahem!" The bear-like Reaper drew attention to himself with a grunt before peeking out from around the van he was hiding behind and firing off a round from his grenade launcher. There was a small whistling sound, and then...

BOOM!

The street was painted a myriad of colors, leaving almost half a dozen ABB gunners in shellshock.

"Unless you have anything _else_ you'd like to add..." Grunge scowled as he clicked the launcher to another barrel. "I'd suggest you start pulling your own weight."

"Speaking of... Spitfire, this street's getting a bit too hot to handle, light 'em up!" Victor ordered.

The mercenary nodded silently in agreement, stepping up next to him and toggling a switch on her mask before unleashing a barrage of flames from its nozzle, effectively blocking the street off.

Meanwhile, Grue was layering darkness along the rooftops, doing his best to keep the ABB's more skilled marksmen from taking potshots at them. Unfortunately, he was unable to do the same for the ground-level conflicts, due to his darkness obscuring the view of his allies as well.

"Besides, if you wanna talk about useless, talk about Cricket!" Hip taunted, casting a mischievous look at the neo-nazi who was sulking against the barricade. "Speaking of, how're those kama working out for ya? FYI, we really like 'em! Good quality on the metal, fine craftsmanship! You know, we could probably make you a good deal on-YEARGH!" The Reaper barely dodged the stone that struck where her head had been moments earlier.

"So is that a no?" Hop inquired innocently.

"Fuck. You." Cricket gargled darkly.

"Save it for when he's legal!" Grunge barked. "For now, eyes forward and keep fighting!" He scowled as he raised his grenade launcher. "Lord knows it _can't_ get worse than this..."

 **-o-**

"Damn it all, I swear that if _someone_ said that things couldn't get any worse..." Chicago muttered murderously.

To say that things had spiralled out of control would be a _vast_ understatement. At first, things had seemed well in hand; sure, Kaiser and his hanger-ons had ditched them almost immediately, so Sundancer had steadfastly refused to use her powers, and so what if Bitch all but redefined the word abrasive? They'd still managed to lay down some serious damage on the ABB, decisively crippling a good part of their merchandise.

Still, the whole time he was watching things go down through his scope, Chicago couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that he had a _very_ bad feeling about this.

Then the world was filled with fire.

Sure, they'd half-expected Oni Lee to be present, that was the whole point of Psycho coming along! But _Lung!?_

"This is _just_ not fair!" Chicago snarled, venting his fury over long distance on an ABB gunwoman who was futilely trying to hide from the fight. "Don't they have the _decency_ to try and fight even a _little_ bit fair!?"

The mercenary sniper kneeling next to him eyed him warily as he reloaded his rifle. "Those... are some _scary_ good skills you have there. Where did you learn how to-?"

"I made a _lot_ of enemies back west," Chicago stated firmly, drawing back the bolt on his rifle to expel the spent can within and reloading a new one. "Here's a deal: you don't ask me any more questions, and _I_ don't email your wife the code and number to the storage locker you own, m'kay?"

The mercenary paled drastically as he stared at the Reaper. "How the _hell_ did you-?!"

"Wait, seriously?" Chicago gave the man a surprised look. "Huh. I was just bluffing. Still, something to look into later. But for now, enough chit-chat," He peered back down his scope as the merc's expression shifted to one of horror. "Tell me, have you seen-?"

FWOOSH! BANG BANG BANG BANG!

"Never mind."

With an almost lazy amount of dread, Chicago slowly pointed his rifle's scope up at an adjacent rooftop, whereupon he was met with a scene that would not be out of place in a kung-fu movie.

Psycho and Oni Lee were playing dueling teleporters with each other, warping around the rooftop at dizzying speed. Every time Lee appeared behind Psycho, the clone was speared by one of the Reaper's frantically moving seven tails, while whenever Psycho attempted to get a shot in, he hit naught but ash. Occasionally, a clone dodged Psycho long enough that the Reaper was forced to vanish in a blaze of tattoo-flames, lest he be caught in the clone's detonation and torn to shreds. Once in awhile, he let loose with the modified assault rifle he was carrying, tagging Lee once or twice before he could disappear.

Nevertheless, the contest was fairly equal, neither side giving ground nor gaining any. And as swiftly as they'd appeared, they vanished, taking their fight away to some other nearby location.

"Well, at least that's _one_ issue being dealt with..." Chicago muttered. "Now..."

 ** _"ROOOOOAAAAAR!"_**

The Reaper swallowed heavily as he eyed the living blaze that was Lung as he clashed with Kaiser's blades.

"How the _hell_ do we deal with the other!?"

The conflict with the major Parahuman had gone down the worst course possible: it had escalated. Fenja and Menja were currently matching Lung's size, Kaiser was herding him around with growths of metal, and even Labyrinth was starting to warp the area around her under Newter's direction, leaving Bitch and the rest of the Reapers to deal with the ABB, save for a few elephantine Noise clashing with Lung.

But despite this, Lung was holding out blow for blow, growing larger and larger every second that passed by.

"We need an edge," the mercenary muttered darkly. "Something needs to break, soon. Otherwise..."

Suddenly, a wave of pure _sound_ slammed into Lung, launching him off his feet and flinging him into the flaming warehouse.

Chicago looked up from his scope in shock, blinking in surprise. "Uhhh..." He stated dumbly.

 **-o-**

South slowly tilted his hat up in shock as he stared down the street. "You. Have got. To be fucking with me."

This mood was the same with everyone present as they watched three large Hummer roll their way down the streets towards them. Most pressing of all was what was perched on the top of each vehicle's roof...

"I dread to even ask, but Hip, Hop, where the hell did they get _three LMGs!?"_ Grunge demanded incredulously.

The twins snorted incredulously. "Don't look at us! Us and ours had _nothing_ to do with this!" Hop protested.

"Althooough..." Hip shot an accusatory glare at the Empire capes. "The E88 _did_ get rather flustered over the ABB raiding a delivery of theirs. Isn't that right, _Victor?"_

The Parahuman's silence was extremely telling.

"Goddamn it! We are _so_ screwed!" Grue declared angrily.

"Not yet, we aren't," Grunge growled, glancing at South. The cowboy Reaper met his gaze and nodded firmly. A glance back at the twins confirmed that they were each holding a can of Noise with reflecting designs, smiling viciously. He nodded firmly before facing the truck again. "I'd recommend you all standing back. This is about to get _big."_

Slowly, both Grunge's chest and South's biceps lit up, while Hip and Hop started to depress the nozzles on their cans.

"Showtime in three!" Hip smirked.

"Two!" Hop concurred.

"On-!"

Everything went dark as a pillar of light shone down from the sky. Accompanying it was a very familiar and very _loud_ voice.

 _"ATTENTION AZN BAD BOYS! THIS IS MISS MILITIA! THE POLICE AND PRT HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! GET ON THE GROUND AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS, NOW!"_

Almost simultaneously, several armored trucks rocketed around the corners of the road, screeching to a halt and disgorging a multitude of well-armored troopers. Amongst them were a man and woman in red and green outfits.

"Allow me to translate for the nice lady in the helicopter with a sniper rifle!" Assault bellowed. "Attention ABB scumbags: get down, or get wrecked. With love, the Protectorate. Oh, and post-scriptum."

In a blur of motion, Battery leapt onto the roof of the truck, ripping the LMG out of the gunner's hands and crushing it into three separate pieces.

"Get bent."

Grunge and South glanced at each other momentarily before coming to a decision. Simultaneously, the two of them burst out of cover, running for the other two trucks before the shell-shocked ABB goons could react.

Upon reaching the truck, Grunge's arms flashed with static before morphing into titanic skeletal claws, while a Circle Pit Grizzly appeared before him, its arms crossed in front of him. In one deft move, he stepped on the Grizzlie's claws and allowed it to launch him into the air. He landed heavily on the roof of the truck, bringing his fists down on the gun and smashing it out of a shocked gunman's hands.

Meanwhile, South, upon reaching the truck, ripped the driver side door open and hauled the driver out. Only one of his biceps pulsed with light before a blue and gold Pig Butoh came into existence next to him. The horned pig dug its horns into the side of the truck, causing it to groan in protest. The gunner on top of the truck hastily scrambled off the truck's roof, and not a moment too soon, because moments later, the pig gave a final resounding squeal and _heaved_ with its horn, lifting the truck off its tires and flipping it onto its roof.

Satisfied with the destruction they'd wrought, the two Reapers started to amble back towards their comrades, past the ABB troops who were staring at them in shock.

"Showoffs." Hip pouted.

"Still kinda cool though," Hop granted.

"What do we do now?" Spitfire asked nervously.

"Well, I don't know about you all," South stated as he casually strolled along. "But I ain't got anythin' to be convicted of! Sooo... howdy, fellers!" He waved at the heroes as he strolled up to them, the rest of the Reapers following close behind.

"Sir, ma'am," Grunge nodded respectfully.

"Grunge! South!" Assault spread his arms jovially. "Nice going, guys! You've sure made a hell of an impact here!"

"Not that we don't appreciate your presence here tonight, but..." Grunge raised an eyebrow curiously. "Why are you here? I kn- _heard_ that Piggot stone-walled any and all propositions to take the fight to the streets?" The Reaper amended his statement hastily.

"Relax, Grunge, we're not exactly here in any official Protectorate capacity," Battery waved his worry off easily.

"See... we listened to your debate," Assault grinned cockily. "And, well, we felt insulted! So, when the PRT wouldn't let us do our jobs, we decided to ask someone a bit... higher up."

"Mayor Christner gave Director Piggot an ultimatum: let us coordinate with the BBPD to stop the violence, or he'd slash any and all local funding to the PRT in half. The fact that his niece was recently kidnapped _really_ helped motivate him." Battery explained.

"So, we redeem ourselves in your eyes, or do we need to beg, too?" Assault asked cheekily.

"Hmph! We shall not be so easily bought!" Hip huffed petulantly.

"But... it's a start!" Hop finished mischievously.

"And what about the others who helped us handle these guys?" South jerked his thumb over his shoulder back towards where the other villains were. Several of the Reapers started fingering their guns nervously as they eyed the surrounding officers.

"What villains?" Assault questioned innocently. "They left _three minutes before we got here!"_ He raised his voice on the last part, prompting said individuals hiding amongst the cars to dash out from them and into any nearby alleyways they could find.

Grunge and South glanced at each other meaningfully before tipping their hats towards Assault and Battery respectfully, gestures the heroes gladly returned.

"Oh, and don't worry about Bakuda, we've got our best and brightest on it!" Battery stated confidently.

"Well, personally, I'd call him our most arrogant and over-confident, but-!"

THWACK!

"AGH! MY SPLEEN!"

 **-o-**

"Nononono, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Bakuda growled furiously as she worked to put the finishing touches on the bomb before her. The cylindrical behemoth before her was suspended above the warehouse's floor by a multitude of chains, allowing her to work on it from all angles.

"I'm not going out this way, you fuckers, not like this, not li-!"

CRACK!

She looked over her shoulder in shock, staring at the once reinforced door that had blocked entry to her lab. The door that was now _shattered in its frame._

SMASH!

Suddenly, a massive bony claw smashed through the door, blowing its pieces straight out of the doorframe.

Bakuda gaped in horror as a stream of intruders entered the lab, the Composer heading the pack. Acting on instinct, Bakuda whipped her grenade launcher off her back, took aim-!

CRASH!

And flinched as a tribal spike shot its way straight through the weapon's casing.

"Make one more move and the next one goes straight through your hand!" The Composer bellowed. "Give it up, Bakuda! We have you dead to rights!"

The bomb tinker stared at the Reaper incredulously for a moment before jerking her hand towards a part of the bomb's inner mechanisms.

CRUNCH!

"ARGH!" She snarled in pain when the Composer made good on her promise, pinning her hand to the metal. Nevertheless, she brought her other hand up, started to fiddle around...

And was halted by a blur of red suddenly grabbing her hand.

"I don't think so," Velocity warned her calmly.

She blinked at him in incomprehension before sighing heavily. "So _that's_ how they got to all my bombs."

"Yup. So, are you ready to surrender?"

"Not even close, half-wit," She jerked her foot, clanging it against the bomb. This action caused the metal monstrosity to come to life with light and sound erupting from within. "At the risk of sounding cliché, if I'm going down, then I'm taking you with me. You, and the rest of this damn city!"

Tattletale swallowed heavily as she stared up at the mad Tinker. "That is _not_ an exaggeration, it's got a half-megaton nuclear payload!"

"No matter."

Attention shifted to Armsmaster as he stomped into the room. "I've studied Bakuda's bombs extensively, I can disarm it."

Tattletale glanced around for a second before swallowing heavily. "No, you can't."

"HA!"

"But you _can_ lessen the detonation."

" _WHAT!?"_

"It's complex, but you can get it down to... half a city block? Look, I've got a splitting headache here, I'm ball-parking, sue me!"

"SON OF A-MMPH!"

"Thank you, Velocity."

"No problem, boss."

"Now... how exactly do you propose we move something this big somewhere secluded in...?"

"...ten, fifteenish minutes? Needs time to charge, but you'll need five minutes to rig it, meaning we won't have time to move it onto PRT transport. Soooo..." Tattletale smirked at Gangsta. "We'll have to air lift it."

Gangsta raised an eyebrow in thought as she looked up at the hulking machine. "I dunno... that thing's pretty big. Might be tough for my Cornix to carry alone..."

"So two will have to do." The Composer stated as she cracked her neck back and forth in anticipation. "Trickster, get Tattletale and Armsmaster onto the bomb. Genesis, help Faultline reach the roof. You'll have to collapse it inwards so that we can get out. Gangsta, let's get our rides ready to go."

Armsmaster looked rather put off by being commanded around by the Composer, but didn't protest when he and Tattletale were swapped with Bakuda and Velocity, choosing to get to work on the bomb's innards as soon as possible, occasionally consulting Tattletale about components of the bomb.

Meanwhile, Faultline climbed onto the back of the shapeshifting Traveler, holding on as she made her way up the warehouse's walls, repositioning her body so that the mercenary would have room to get to work as she set about cutting slices of metal out of the roof and letting them drop to the ground.

Finally, after tense minutes, the deed was done. The roof was wide open and Tattletale and Armsmaster jumped off of the device, Tattletale using one of the chains hanging from the bomb while Armsmaster simply rolled upon landing.

"Alright!" Tattletale clapped her hands together. "Now, all our Reaper friends need to do is fly this baby out over the ocean and-!"

She was cut off by the Composer's phone vibrating urgently in its owner's pocket.

In an instant, the Reaper snapped her phone out, checked the ID and answered it. "Chicago?"

 _"Lung's here, and he's gone ballistic. Dauntless and Triumph gave us a reprieve, but in the end they're just throwing fuel on the fire! We've got two Drakes on him, but they won't last much longer! We need help!_ NOW!" And with that the call cut off.

The Composer shot Gangsta a desperate look through her visor. "Any ideas?"

The teenage Reaper shrugged helplessly. "Hell if I know! We got lucky the first time, Lung wasn't too amped up, so I was able to get the drop on him! But now? That bastard's an unstoppable force of destruction!"

And just like that the Composer felt an idea begin to form in her head. "Nooo..." She said slowly. "Lung is an immovable object," The original Reaper slowly raised a hand to point up at the bomb. _"That_ is an unstoppable force. Do you remember what happens when the two meet?"

Slowly, Gangsta turned to stare up at the bomb in awe before looking back at the Composer, an eager glint obvious in her eyes. "Oh. Fuck. _Yes."_

"Composer," Armsmaster growled in warning. "Don't. You-!"

"Too-late-ready-set-go!" Gangsta belted out, the ground beneath both her and the Composer lighting up before erupting in static, rocketing over the heroes, twin ravens of titanic scale snatching up the chains that supported the bomb and ripping it up and out of the warehouse.

The pair tore across the sky, the hunk of metal trailing behind them as they soared tirelessly, making their way towards the blazing inferno that was burning on the docks.

"You ready?" The Composer called out.

"Hell yeah!" Gangsta whooped exuberantly. "Let's do this!"

With that, the twin ravens drifted apart, suspending the bomb between them.

"Alright, three, two, one..." The Composer counted down. "Dive!"

 **-o-**

Lung roared furiously as he barraged the barriers of steel with his flames, slowly melting them away as he stomped forwards, intent on destroying the pests who'd dared to attack him.

Heroes, villains, _Reapers,_ it didn't matter.

Soon, they would all burn.

He raised a massive claw, preparing to strike down at the last of the metal...

"CAW CAW, MOTHERFUCKER!"

When an annoyingly familiar voice caused him to turn around and stare up at the sky.

Not just one, but two of the accursed birds that had led to his defeat were flying towards him, and one was carrying the object of his ire.

Fury overcoming his senses, Lung spread his arms out wide, preparing to let loose an inferno at the Reapers...

When they suddenly pulled up and flew apart. Lung barely had time to process this action before a weight struck him in his abdomen. Instinctively, he curled up around the object, catching it in his arms.

Lung blinked curiously at the object, trying to process what he was holding. It was... big, and made of metal and... familiar. Where had he-?

And then it hit him.

Lung's lips drew back in a vicious snarl, a growl that promised suffering erupting from his throat.

" Ah 'on'a _'ill_ Bak'da."

Without warning, there was a flash of light, a surge of sound, and everything became _pain_.

 **-o-**

Chicago whistled appreciatively as he watched the resulting mushroom cloud start to dissipate. "Wow, when someone asks for help, you damn well deliver."

"Damn straight!" Gangsta crowed, dancing atop her Cornix. "Oh yeah, that's right! Who da Reapers? Who da Reapers? _We_ da Reapers! Woot!"

"Down, Gangsta," The Composer chided goodnaturedly. "Now..." She looked around for a moment. "What about Lee? Where's Psyhedelic?"

Suddenly, the aforementioned Reaper appeared in a flash of flames. He was _definitely_ worse for the wear, his once pristine clothes charred black with soot, and the odd fire smoldering on his sleeves and hood. Judging by the way he was drunkenly swaying around and only had one tail swishing about, he was on his last legs.

The Composer hissed in a sympathetic breath. "Lee get the drop on you?"

Psycho nodded weakly in agreement.

"Damn. Ah well, two out of three isn't bad. Head home, Psychedelic. Get some rest, you deserve it."

The Reaper flashed away without another word.

The Composer then addressed the Reapers present. "That goes for the rest of you as well. Good work tonight. Now, go home and get some shut eye." She cast a dubious glance at where Kaiser and Dauntless were glaring at each other. "I'll handle the rest."

The Reapers all gave sounds of agreement as they started to wander off. She gave Anarcho a satisfied nod as he passed by, shook hands with Chicago, and clapped Gangsta on the back.

Once they were gone, she strode up to Kaiser, matching his gaze eye for eye. "Kaiser."

"Composer." He replied coolly.

"I don't like you." She stated bluntly. "I don't like your organization, I don't like what you do, but most of all, I just don't. Like. _You."_

"Then to be perfectly honest, I find your group of miscreants and filth of the earth to be _barely_ more respectable than the Merchants." Kaiser replied, his tone as neutral as hers.

"You don't cause anything this big or gun for us any time soon, we don't tear you to pieces?"

"Only if the same holds true in reverse."

"Deal."

"Deal."

And with that, the two shook hands tersely and Kaiser marched away, Fenja and Menja close behind him.

Dauntless stared after Kaiser for a moment before turning an incredulous gaze on the Composer. "What the hell was that!?"

"Oh, we just came to an understanding."

"With the currently most powerful crime boss in Brockton Bay!?" Triumph demanded incredulously.

"Would you rather the streets erupt in all-out warfare here and now?" The Composer deadpanned.

Dauntless winced as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Fair enough."

"So, to confirm, no negative repercussions for the Reapers, correct?"

"Huh? Oh, most definitely. And thanks a lot for your help, we really appreciate it. If there's anything we can do to repay you-"

"Eh, it was nothing." The Composer waved him off easily. "Just give us _some_ credit in the press conference, alright?"

"Heh, sounds good to me!" Dauntless nodded in agreement.

 **-o-**

 _"Our city has, in recent times, suffered a heinous rash of crimes, courtesy of the Azn Bad Boys, which were incited by the actions of the Reapers." Piggot said as she stared unflinchingly into the sea of reporters before her, firmly ignoring the clearly uncomfortable heroes standing behind her. "However, thanks to the valiant actions of the members of the Parahuman Response Team and the heroes of the Protectorate, the villains known as Lung and Bakuda were successfully apprehended, and are enroute to their incarceration in the Baumann Correctional Facility as we speak. Despite the inflammatory actions of other local villains last night-"_

"PULL!" Gangsta snarled viciously.

On cue, the Grizzly carrying the television hauled its arm back and threw the television into the air. The Reaper then proceeded to pepper the flying entertainment device with bullet after bullet of paint, until finally it crashed into a pile of other sets, each equally defaced and savaged.

"No good fat-ass _ungrateful-_ RELOAD!" Gangsta hollered as she and several other reapers reloaded their guns. Meanwhile, the Grizzly grabbed another television off of a small pile of them, holding it up for all to see.

 _"Polls are currently showing how support for the once famous Reapers has plummeted, with many citing the group as menaces and-"_

"PULL!"

This was essentially the mood that was shared by all in South's bar. Reapers were either sulking darkly or taking out their rage either through art or more... violent pursuits.

The Composer sat at the bar proper, silently nursing a bottle of root-beer. On her left, Chicago was typing away furiously at a laptop, while on her right Grunge was heavily chugging down a can of beer.

SLAM!

Correction, he'd just finished chugging down a can.

"Another!"

"I'm starting to think I'm gonna have to cut you off."

"You can cut me off when I forget I work for her, now another!"

"Fair 'nuff."

Meanwhile, Chicago grew more and more frantic with his typing before slamming his fist on the table in frustration. "Damn it all!" He shook his head darkly. "She's got every media outlet sealed tighter than Fort Knox! I can't even _try_ and get a word in edgewise. Sorry, Boss."

The Composer didn't respond. She merely tilted her head back and sipped at her soda in silence.

Suddenly, the door to Southern's bar slammed open, and Hip and Hop bounded in, full of joy and energy.

"Guys! Guys! Guess what!" Hip squealed in giddy joy.

"The pig lady just had a heart attack and keeled over?" Gangsta growled as she cocked her gun.

"Nope!"

"But we think you're gonna like this even better!" Hop assured.

A third individual entered the bar calmly.

"Hello Reapers!"

All attention was directed towards the newcomer as she spoke.

Tattletale smirked in a vulpine manner as she bathed in the attention.

"How would you all like to help screw over the PRT?"

Slowly, the grin was matched by every Reaper present, the Composer most of all.


	12. Sonata 11

**Sonata 11**

Miss Militia sighed heavily as she stared at the reflection of herself cast on the murky liquid sloshing around in her glass. Currently, it was the only sight she could willingly stomach. Even now, the light titter of meaningless pleasantries and idle gossip was grating at her ears.

At the moment, if Miss Militia could be anywhere else at the moment, she would be there in an instant. Anything to escape the undeserved praise that was making her sick.

 _'_ _Honestly...'_ she thought ruefully as she tilted her head back and swiftly drained the glass in a single sour swallow. _'_ _This isn't a celebration of victory. This is us resting on the laurels we stole from others.'_

Miss Militia had been far from enthused when she'd been informed of the gala, and she and several other heroes had attempted to make their grievances clear with the Director. Unfortunately, their protests had fallen on deaf ears: Director Piggot had made it clear that all of the Protectorate and Wards were to be present for the event, or else there _would_ be consequences.

The military-themed hero couldn't help but let a hint of scorn slip into her gaze as she watched Brockton Bay's upper-crust mill about around her. _'_ _Here we are celebrating while others starve...'_ She let out a heavy sigh as she cast a wistful stare at the window. _'_ _I wonder how many Merchants I could have caught by now...'_

Judging by the hushed conversation going on nearby, she wasn't the only one dissatisfied by the way things were turning out.

"Listen, Director, _please!_ If you would just-!"

"No, _you_ listen to me, Dauntless. You will remain here throughout the night or I will see you transferred to Anchorage, in _Alaska!_ I've heard _wonders_ about one of the local Wards. Also, I have no intention on rescinding my statement, so don't even attempt to bring that up, am I clear?"

"... yes Director."

"Good. Now try and smile, there are people watching."

Miss Militia didn't even need to turn around to know that her fellow hero was stiffly marching towards her, a corpse-like grin on his face. She held up the bottle of wine she was holding helpfully. "Want a glass?"

Dauntless grunted in agreement as he snatched the bottle out of her hand, grabbing a nearby glass and filling it. "The way I feel, I think I might be better chugging the whole bottle. Who knows, I might get lucky and the resulting scene will grossly insult Pi-the director," He drained the glass in a single gulp before grimacing at the taste. "Ergh... and I don't even _like_ wine..."

"Rough day?" Hannah asked kindly.

Dauntless hung his head and sighed heavily. "Rough _week._ This is... so wrong, on so many levels," His entire posture all but screamed weariness. "I promised her, you know? The Composer. I promised we'd give the Reapers some credit..." He shook his head sadly. "Some hero I am. I can't even keep a promise to a little girl."

"I'd hesitate to call her 'little'," the hero and heroine turned and cast a not entirely kind look at Armsmaster as he approached them. "Especially considering how she was able to summon a ten-ton bird to do her bidding at a moment's notice."

"What do you want, Armsmaster?" Dauntless muttered sourly. "Shouldn't you be posing for the cameras like the media darling you are?"

Armsmaster had lost a lot of credit with the Brockton Bay Protectorate when he had refused to help them attempt to dissuade the Director from throwing the gala, _or_ convince her to amend her statement on the Reapers.

Armsmaster scowled at his counterpart as he poured himself a glass of his own. "Back off, I'm enjoying this as much as you two."

"Oh really? I thought it was your dream to be Public Hero Number One." Dauntless accused.

 _"_ _If_ I were to harbor any such desires for media fame," He responded evenly, "then I would want to attain them via my _own_ actions," He succinctly cast a rueful look at the party-goers around them. "Believe me, I enjoy being a pawn in socio-political chess games as much as any of you. I'd much rather be in my lab."

Miss Militia stared at him dryly for a second before sighing heavily and nodding. "Fair enough. So, apart from looking good for the cameras and trying to drown our shame, what else is there to do at this kind of... gathering."

"Well for one..." The three shifted their attention to Battery as she walked up to them, glancing around and biting her lip nervously. "You _might_ want to help me find Assault."

"You _lost_ him!?" Armsmaster hissed urgently.

"It's not my fault!" She defended desperately. "I was keeping him on a tight leash like I usually do at these kind of events, but then some redhead, Barney, Barnson? Whatever! She came up to me, asking me for my autograph, and I lost track of him!"

Miss Militia glanced at the concession table they were standing at. "Well, at least he can't spike the punch this time. When did you lose him?"

"... an hour ago?"

"We're fucked." Dauntless stated tactfully.

"I think that you might want to double that, sir."

Armsmaster scrunched his eyes shut as he heard Aegis speak up behind him. "Clockblocker went missing around the same time, didn't he."

"Sorry, sir. I'd take full responsibility, but I'm resilient, not suicidal."

"Fair enough."

"Alright, look!" Miss Militia interjected. "I know that one of them alone at a party is asking for a prank, and both of them just multiplies things, but whatever they do, I'm sure it's not worth causing a panic over."

 **-o-**

"Alright, according to Chicago's blueprints, the maintenance room should be riiight... here!"

"Alright, now we- woah! Holy shit, that's a lot of switches! Which one did Synth and Chiptune say to hit?"

"That's _DJ_ s Synth and Chiptune, buddy! And... this one! Now when do we-?"

"Eight on the dot... meaning right now! Flip it!"

"Alright! _Let's do this!"_

 **-o-**

Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness.

Amidst the screams of panic, there was a flash of green light. "Not a word. Clear?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Dauntless's grin was obvious in his voice.

"Alright, enough messing around, flashlights out."

There was a bit of shuffling around until, with several clicks, multiple beams of light shone through the dark, illuminating the panicked crowd.

"Alright, now if I were a pair of brainless pranksters, where would I go..."

"Come on out, Clockblocker! Make things easier on yourself!"

"Um, s-sir?"

Armsmaster angled his flashlight at the speaker. "What is it, Kid Win?"

"I just talked to one of the PRT troopers. The lights aren't just out in this room, they're out throughout the entire _building._ I'm not a hundred percent certain on this, but... I don't think that Clockblocker or Assault did this."

"Then who-?"

"Armsmaster!"

The Tinker hero was thankful for the darkness as he grit his teeth in frustration. "Yes, Director Piggot?"

"Would you care explaining to me why such a crucial event as this is taking place _in the dark?"_

"We're handling the situation, Director."

"You'd damn well better be. Now hurry up and find out just who is responsible for this so that they can be held accountable."

Suddenly, a bright light flashed through the building's windows. All eyes turned and watched as a large screen of light appeared over the bay, displaying an image of static for all the city to see.

And then came the noise: a booming voice that echoed throughout all of Brockton Bay.

 _"_ _HEEELLOOOOO PEOPLE OF BROCKTON BAY!"_

Battery's mouth ran dry as she recognized the voice. "Oh _shit."_

Another voice continued where the previous one left off. _"_ _WE ARE ON THE AIR!"_

"This... will not be pleasant." Miss Militia stated solemnly.

 _"_ _AND IN THE WAVES!"_

" _Now_ can I say I told you so?" Dauntless demanded.

 _"_ _BRINGING THE TUNES FROM US TO YOU!"_

 _"_ _ONCE ANEW, HONEST AND TRUE!"_

 _"_ _IT'S TIME FOR THE REAPER REVIEW!"_ The two voices finished in succession.

"The Reapers." Piggot growled darkly.

"It appears they're reacting to your press conference." Armsmaster stated. "As I warned you they would."

"Not now, Armsmaster!"

 _"_ _Good night, people of Brockton! I'm the great DJ Chiptune!"_

 _"_ _And I am the_ illustrious _DJ Synth!"_

 _"_ _Tonight, we have a very_ special _edition of the Review for you all!"_

 _"_ _For the first time ever, we have the big boss herself givin' you all a true and proper statement!"_

 _"_ _And so, without further ado, we give you..."_

 _"_ _The Composer herself!"_

The holographic screen suddenly flickered and flashed, the static fading away to show the woman of the hour, body hidden in darkness and shadows.

 _"_ _People of Brockton Bay!"_ The Composer's voice boomed menacingly. _"_ _Tonight, I address you all in order to inform you of not only my demeanor, but of the demeanor of_ all _Reapers."_ The Composer leaned forwards menacingly. _"_ _We are displeased. No... displeased is an understatement. We are_ furious _at the Parahuman Response Team, and the_ insult _they have directed towards us."_

Director Piggot snorted at the words. "And so she shows her true colors."

"Yeah, colors _you_ coerced..." Dauntless muttered under his breath.

" _What_ did you just say."

"Nothing, ma'am. Absolutely nothing."

 _"_ _It is not enough..."_ The Composer snarled, _"_ _That you blame us for halting Lung's attempt to lead his men to commit bloody, senseless murder. It is not enough that you ignore our part in mitigating the havoc wrought by Bakuda. And it is not enough that you call the actions of not just us, but_ every _villain in Brockton Bay to halt the ABB's rampage 'inflammatory'. No..."_ The Composer drew herself up to her full height. _"_ _You decided to throw a party. You celebrated Lung's downfall... and you didn't. Invite. Us."_

Silence reigned over the gala-goers.

"What." Shadow Stalker stated flatly.

 _"_ _You dare to begin festivities without inviting the foremost purveyors of merriment in all the city? This injustice will! Not! Stand! As such... we've decided to completely and utterly_ ruin _your little soirée. How might we do this you ask? Well..."_ The Composer spread her hands wide. _"_ _There are a variety of methods through which we could accomplish such a task. We could simply crash it: invade and overrun it with a celebration of our own. We could vandalize it. Deface all those fancy jewels and dresses of your guests. And the Protectorate base! It would put a damper on the evening's events were we to give it a new custom coat of paint..."_

Suddenly, the Composer wheeled around, turning her back on the camera. _"_ _But no! These methods of vengeance are base! Weak and brutish, unfit for our unique brand of disregard for the restrictions of the law! No..."_ She slowly turned to face the camera once again. _"_ _What we shall do will be far,_ far _worse. We will not touch your party, oh high and mighty Director Emily_ Piggot. _We shall not even come close to it. For you see..."_

The shadowy figure leaned in close to the camera, the only part of her eyes, a mischievous twinkle shining in them.

 _"_ _We intend to utterly outclass it."_

Once again, silence reigned.

 _"_ _What."_ Piggot stated.

The Composer jumped back from the camera, pointing a finger up in the air. _"_ _HIT IT!"_

Without rhyme or reason, the city below the gala _exploded_ with light and color, massive beams of luminescence slicing through the air from the ground and high into the sky.

A song began to echo throughout the city, its beat thrumming within the chests of every citizen who could hear it.

"What the hell...?" Armsmaster questioned numbly.

Miss Militia flashed a sniper rifle into her hands, peering through the scope momentarily before flinching away and rubbing her eye. "Kind of bright, but... it looks like the whole of the Boardwalk is lit up."

 _"_ _That's right, Brockton Bay! The Reapers are throwing a party!"_ The Composer's voice boomed over the music. On screen, the darkness had evaporated, revealing the founder of the Reapers. She was clad in a bright green pinstripe suit that had a mess of musical notes arrayed across it. The lower half of her mouth was hidden by a scarf with a cartoonish smile painted on it, and perched on her head was a matching green fedora. Clutched in her hands was a black walking cane, topped with a pure white cartoonish skull with wings rising from it.

Her surroundings were revealed to indeed be on the Boardwalk. The tourist trap had been adorned with a mass of streamers, banners, and other such party decoration. All around her was a veritable mass of Reapers who were jumping and dancing wildly, all at the _epitome_ of bliss.

 _"_ _You see..."_ The Composer twirled her cane expertly in her hand as she casually strolled through the chaos, the camera following alongside her. _"_ _We were all horribly put off when we found ourselves uninvited to_ the _event to be at. We raged, we cried... but then we got over it! 'Ah well!' we thought! 'If those PRT blowhards won't let us have fun with them, then we'll just have to make some fun of our own!' And so, we got to work! It took a lot of doing. We simply_ must _give credit where it is due to the Undersiders, they were_ crucial _in setting all of this up! But the end result is nonetheless_ magnificent! _So throw your 'gala',_ _PRT,"_ She waved her hand in a dismissive shooing gesture. _"_ _For you see,_ _we don't care! Tonight, we shall host an even bigger and better party! Tonight, we host one of- nay, we host_ the greatest _party that Brockton Bay has ever seen!"_

 _"_ _That's right people!"_

The Composer didn't even flinch when Gangsta suddenly dropped into the frame, flinging an arm over her shoulders.

 _"_ _This, right here, right now, is_ the _place to be! This is_ the _most happening spot in all the city!"_ Gangsta cackled madly, drunk on the energy surrounding her. _"_ _All night long, we're gonna be hosting the most kickass shindig in history! And thanks to a little bit a' Leet's tinkering, you all get to watch it goin' on every single second! 'Course, it doesn't_ have _to be through a screen!"_

The Composer nodded in agreement with her friend's statement. _"_ _My comrade has a point. You see, unlike the stuffy PRT's get together, which is_ strictly _for our fair city's elite, this party is all-access! Everyone is welcome! Heroes, civilians, yes, even the villains will be allowed in with open arms!"_

 _"_ _Though, fair warning, if anyone starts any shit, we'll toss 'em out with closed fists!"_ Gangsta snickered.

 _"_ _You see..."_ The Composer swept her cane out over the crowd. _"_ _This here is the_ ultimate _expression of what it means to be a Reaper: tonight is a night of freedom! For this one night, the shackles of society will not bind us! Tonight, we! Are! FREE!"_

The crowd roared around her in approval, their cries of ecstasy ringing throughout the city.

 _"_ _So please, oh_ illustrious _Director of the PRT,"_ The Composer chuckled as she balanced on her cane and lowered the brim of her hat over her eyes. _"_ _Enjoy your gala. Savor your political success. Meanwhile, we'll be right over here relishing our own victory. And should any members of the Protectorate wish to come and join us..."_ She glanced up at the camera, a glint of mirth ever-present in her eyes. _"_ _Please, feel free."_

And with that, the camera swung up and away over the throngs, pointing instead at a madly grinning Hip and Hop as they hung in the air, suspended by a pair of tattoo-wings protruding from their backs.

 _"_ _Helloooo Brockton Bay!"_ Hip crowed. _"_ _I'm Hip!"_

 _"_ _And I'm her brother Hop!"_ Her brother crowed. _"_ _We'll be your guides throughout the party tonight, our camera flying alongside us courtesy of one of our signature Death Thrash Minks!"_

 _"_ _Come on, we'll show you around!"_ And with that, the two and the camera dove into the crowd, the pair pointing out events and details as they went.

Piggot's fury as obvious by the way her breathing had increased as she stared at the screen. "This. Is. An. _Outrage!"_

"It's certainly one hell of a maneuver, you've gotta give them that," Aegis stated only semi-reluctantly, only to hastily clamp his mouth shut when the Director turned and shot him a vehement glare.

"And just _where_ are Assault and Clockblocker?" She demanded.

Any responses were cut off by Hip and Hop suddenly speaking up.

 _"_ _One of the_ many _attractions we have here tonight is a mind-boggling array of beverages, ranging from as flat as water to liver-failure inducing! All served by our one and only Southern!"_

 _"_ _Looks like South and one of his customers are throwing down something fierce!"_

On the screen, the Texan Reaper was shown to be behind a bar, his head tilted back as he chugged down an absolutely _massive_ mug of beer, cheered on by a multitude of party-goers. Finally, the man finished the drink and slammed the glass down on the bar, letting loose a massive gut-centered belch which was met with resounding cheers.

 _"_ _Give it up, pencil-neck,"_ He warned good-naturedly. _"_ _Ain't no way you can defeat me in a drinkin' contest!"_

 _"_ _Oh yeah!? Well there's no way_ I'm _gonna lose!"_ An exuberant, nigh childish voice shot back.

Miss Militia's jaw dropped open in shock as she recognized the voice. "Oh. My. God."

The camera panned out to reveal a tall, fit man with messy sandy hair and a madcap grin sitting across from South, an equally massive mug of frothing beer in his hand.

 _"_ _And you know why!?"_ He demanded boisterously. He raised the mug high in the air in a joyful salute. _"_ _BECAUSE I'M FROM BROOKLYN, BABY!"_ And with that, he tipped the mug back, swallowing cup after cup of the alcohol. Finally, he slammed the mug down, cackling madly. _"_ _HIT ME!"_

The Reapers roared their approval.

Armsmaster groaned as he ran his hand over his helmet. "I am giving him monitor duty for the rest of the _year_ for this..."

Battery was frozen, staring silently at the scene.

"Battery? Are you alright?" Miss Militia whispered under her breath.

The heroine slowly shook her head. "I... I'm confused about what to do?"

"Um... work past it or divorce?"

"No... I mean whether I should punch him... or _kiss_ him like I've never kissed him before."

"...both?"

"That works."

Meanwhile, Piggot was _livid,_ her entire body shaking with abject fury. She opened her mouth to say something, _anything..._

When the camera suddenly started moving again. _"_ _Also, as you've probably noticed, we've got a_ killer _sound system set up over here!"_

 _"_ _And it ain't Leet's either! He couldn't make one, so we provided our own! Or rather, DJ Chiptune and DJ Synth did!"_

 _"_ _Check it!"_

And with that, the view shifted to a _massive_ stage, surrounded by Reapers and civilians. The DJs Synth and Chiptune were standing behind an elaborate combination of mixing boards, keyboards and turntables, their fingers flying across the devices in perfect synch as they composed an electronic masterpiece.

Perhaps most breath-taking of all was the way their music was being dispersed: the cables led away from the devices towards the back of the stage and up into the air. They were firmly attached to the feet of a pair of _massive_ yellow bat-shaped Noise that were keeping aloft of the party on their tattoo wings. One's wings were red, while the other's were purple. Both had their mouths open and their heads tilted towards the sky, sound erupting from them and spreading throughout the city.

 _"_ _Those right there are Pteropus Canor and Vespertilio Canor!"_ Hip announced proudly.

 _"_ _Turns out that Bat noise can convert electronic signals into audio signals! Not even the Boss knew that till our good music maestros figured it out!"_ Hop explained.

 _"_ _It's the entire reason why she endorsed their radio station and gave them the Canors in the first place!"_

 _"_ _Come on, let's go and give 'em a chat!"_

The twins and the camera swung down to hover in front of the DJs.

 _"_ _Hey Synth!"_

 _"_ _Hey Chiptune!"_

The techno-garbed disc jockeys flipped a few switches and tapped a few buttons on their devices, setting the music to loop before smiling at the two.

 _"_ _Hey Hip, Hop!"_ Synth saluted.

 _"_ _And he-llooo Brockton Bay!"_ Chiptune waved at the camera. _"_ _Finally, after so long you all have a face to put to my_ beautiful _voice!"_

 _"_ _Kinda disappointing, ain't it?"_

 _"_ _Oh, and you're much better?"_

 _"_ _Hey guys!"_ Hip interjected. _"_ _Fun as you two fighting is, anything you wanna say to the fans at home or on their way here?"_

The DJ Reapers glanced at each other before smirking mischievously.

 _"_ _Nah, we'll let the music speak for us!"_

 _"_ _But there's someone else who's got something to say! HEY KID! GOT ANYTHING TO SAY TO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF BB?"_

The camera swung around, a figure clambered onto the stage...

CRASH!

And the glass Piggot had been holding shattered in her fist.

 _"_ _HELLO BROCKTON BAY! MY NAME IS CLOCKBLOCKER AND I_ LOVE _THE REAPER REVIEW!"_ The fully costumed Ward crowed exuberantly.

"Director Piggot, I swear to you, I in no way, shape or form condone the actions that Clockblocker has taken!" Aegis hastily stated.

Armsmaster pointedly chose to ignore the flashing words his visor was displaying.

 _"_ _Haha! There's our main man!"_ DJ Chiptune cried as he flung his arm around the Ward's shoulders. _"_ _Geeze, I gotta tell you, you hear the words 'number one fan' thrown around alot, but hot damn! If this kid doesn't exemplify the phrase, then_ no one _does!"_

 _"_ _I hear you, brother!"_ Synth nodded in agreement. _"_ _Almost every! Damn! Night! That we take in guest calls this boy's right in there! He's insatiable!"_

 _"_ _Aww, what can I say, guys?"_ Clockblocker defended cheekily. _"_ _I love your music, your jokes, the whole nine yards! And seriously, it is_ great _to be here for you guys! And... you know that I don't even_ remotely _stand by Piggy's press statement, right?"_

The sound of grinding glass came from Director Piggot as she crushed her fist ever tighter.

 _"_ _Nah, s'all good man!"_ Chiptune reassured. _"_ _Fact is, we don't blame none of the Protectorate for the hate! Them, we're good with. The_ PRT _on the other hand, well! Let's just say a few of our future works are gonna be a_ wee _bit pointed."_

 _"_ _But enough hate!"_ Synth cried, flinging his arms out. _"_ _Tonight is a night of joy and celebration! See, we'll still be transmitting our good show throughout the length of the event, so whaddaya say, kid?"_ He patted Clockblocker on his back and gestured at their musical composition station. _"_ _For tonight, wanna be an honorary Reaper and be on the Review?"_

 _"_ _Hell, why not quit the Wards and become one of us full-time? Sure seems like Piggy doesn't care too much for any of your opinions!"_

The heroes suffered a brief moment of panic before Clockblocker laughed and shook his head. _"_ _Sorry guys, but I've got too many friends in the Wards! Gallant, Aegis, Vista, Kid Win, hell, even Browbeat, and I ain't known him that long! There's no way in hell I could abandon them! Still, if it's just for tonight? Then hell yeah! Let's rock!"_

Silence reigned over the party, the only real noise being the clink of glass falling to the floor as a PRT trooper worked to remove the glass from Piggot's hand.

"Er... Director? Are you-?" Miss Militia inquired hesitantly.

"Get. Down there. And stop this. _Now."_ The Director hissed, her her voice shockingly even.

"But Director-!"

"Militia." Armsmaster cut in somberly. "You can argue and ultimately lose, or we can just go now."

The Heroine looked at him desperately for a moment before sighing and following behind him, the rest of the Wards picking their way through the crowd as they followed behind.

Unseen, near the concession stand, a relatively large man in a garish Hawaiian shirt flipped his phone out and dialed a number. He was answered almost instantly. "Hello, Rebecca?"

 _"_ _Glenn. To what do I owe the honor?"_

"I want a raise."

 _"_ _...aren't we paying you enough already?"_

"If I manage to keep the backlash from this from snapping all our necks? Not even close."

 **-o-**

Hookwolf was... confused. He'd seen Kaiser in a lot of moods. Angry at failure, brooding at _personal_ failure, pleased at success, gloating at _personal_ success, contemplative when considering strategies...

But for the life of him, Hookwolf could not think of a single instance where he'd seen Kaiser actually laugh.

Well, until now anyways.

"HAHAHAHA!" Kaiser bellowed uproariously, his body tilted back and a hand pressed against his mask as he shook with mirth.

Hookwolf was well and truly confounded. Ever since the Reapers had begun their transmission, all Kaiser had been doing was laughing and laughing, his joy mounting with every second the spectacle had continued.

Finally, he couldn't help himself. "Sir?" Hookwolf questioned tentatively. "W-what's so funny? I-are we going to allow this or-?"

Almost instantly, Kaiser silenced himself, directing a vicious glare at his subordinate. "Inform the troops that if even a _single_ one of them attempt to disrupt the Reapers' party, then I will deal with them personally. _Am. I. Clear?"_

Hookwolf shuddered at the sheer vitriol in his boss' voice. "U-understood. But... why!? I mean, isn't this too... too bold? Why _shouldn't_ we strike them down for insulting us like this!?"

"Because..." The self-confident smirk he usually wore was obvious in Kaiser's voice. "They are being _exactly_ as bold as they need to be. And the insult they are so _expertly_ extending is solely directed at the PRT. Not even the Protectorate: the PRT. This is truly, well and _truly_ a reason to celebrate!"

"Soo... we'll be attending then?"

Kaiser sighed remorsefully and shook his head. "Sadly, no. As kind as the Composer's invitation is, it would present too much of an air of allegiance were I to present myself. As such, I shall simply recuse myself..." He reached down into a drawer of his desk and retrieved a bottle of scotch, which he toasted heartily. "And celebrate in my own way. Although..." He glanced at the doorway to his office. "Should anyone _else_ desire to attend, then it is entirely up to them."

Hookwolf looked over his shoulder and blinked in surprise as Othala pumped a fist in victory before darting away, dragging a fairly uncomfortable Night behind her.

"... got any more of those bottles?"

"Whiskey or gin? The scotch is mine, only the best for the execution of the PRT's image."

 **-o-**

"Alright you fuckers, listen up!"

All the heads in the drug-den, both sober and not, as Skidmark raised his voice to address all the Merchants and customers present.

"Let's make _one thing_ clear here, alright?" He bellowed. "If even one, _one_ of you cuntsacks tries to bash up that cocky bitch's night, then I'll cut you off so fast you won't even know what the fuck hit you, or from what direction, _clear!?_ "

An assortment of mumbled and grunted confirmations answered him, any and all protests raised being met with their feet suddenly being swept out from under them by discolored strips of ground.

"Good. Now fuck off." Skidmark grunted, wheeling around and stomping back into his personal den, barely even slowing down as a weight suddenly hung itself on his arm.

"Aww, c'mon Skiddy..." Squealer slurred as she clutched at him. "Can't we just go down there? Just for a bit? I wanna have some- OOF!" She grunted when Skidmark planted an elbow in her gut, causing her to double-over and heave.

"What part of the word 'no' don't you understand, bitch!?" Her leader demanded viciously. "I ain't gonna look weak by showin' up, and if I ain't there, then there's no way in fuck that you're going either!" He snorted and spat to the side. "The only reason we ain't crashing the whole damn thing is that it took some serious balls for the bitch to pull this off, big fat fucking steel ones. I might not like her and the rest of her shitheads, but if there's something I can respect, it's that. So for now, we stay the fuck back, clear?"

"Uh... boss?"

Skidmark looked over his shoulder at the familiar gruff voice before looking up. And up and up...

If there was one quality about Mush that was universal, it was that he was _big._ Easily seven and a half feet tall and built like an ox, the burly man was wearing the usual ratty cloak-hoodie combo he always wore, the only visible part of his face being his dirty lantern-jaw. The rest of it was obscured by a mask of burlap cloth. Wrapped around his fists were a pair of chains.

"The fuck do you want?" Skidmark demanded gruffly.

Mush blinked numbly at him for a second, the cogs obviously turning in his mind.

Skidmark rolled his eyes as he waited. Same old Mush: a lot of brawn, _not_ a lot of brains.

"Umm..." The large man finally answered. "Can I go to the party, boss?"

Skidmark's scowl deepened further. "Goddamn it, You big idiot! What part of 'no' didn't you get!?... second thought, don't answer that. Alright, answer this: _why_ the fuck do you wanna go!?"

Mush blinked again before hunching his shoulders and poking his fingers together. "I really like their drawings... the colors are pretty..."

Skidmark hissed out a string of curses under his breath as he kneaded the bridge of his nose. "I am _way_ too sober to deal with this shit..." Finally, he cast a questioning glare at his enforcer. "You high?"

Mush slowly shook his head in denial. "Nuh uh... colors aren't as pretty..."

Skidmark muttered darkly under his breath for a moment before throwing his hands up. "Fine! Go, fuck it, whatever. Hell if I care. Might as well make our presence known. Gotta represent. But!" He jabbed his finger between Mush's eyes. "You fuck this up, you embarrass us or piss someone off, them I'm throwing you to the dogs. And that _means_ something what with Bitch being there. Got it?"

Another moment of contemplation before Mush grinned widely, exposing his yellowed teeth, raised his arms...

"Touch me and die."

Before hastily turning around and lumbering off.

"Goddamn sunnova... whatever. Squealer, you good? Come on, I've got a few ideas I want to- Squea- nonono do n-!"

"HURK!"

"-ot do... goddamn it bitch! Will you hurry up and clean this up!? We're running a business here! Fucking perfect..."

 **-o-**

"Pleeeease? Please please please please-?"

"For the last time, _no_ Victoria! And don't even think of using your aura."

"But _moooom!"_

"These tickets cost me good money, young lady! There is no way that I am going to throw it all away so that we can attend a rave thrown by a bunch of... of villains!"

"Carol, come on. They're, what? Vandals? At best."

"Sarah!"

"Mom's right, Aunt Carol!"

"Yeah, and their art is really really good!"

"Personally, I wouldn't mind taking on that South guy myself..."

 _"_ _Neil!"_

"Mom, _please?_ You know gala'll just be one of those boring as all hell frilly frou-frou affairs that I hate and you just smile and wave at! I don't want to smile and wave, I want to have _fun!_ Plus, Dean'll most likely be there if Piggy is reacting the way I think she is."

"That's Di-"

"I'm not blind, mom, I've seen the way you two look at each other."

"...regardless of any differences between me and the Director, the fact is that there most likely _will_ be villains there!"

"So? We can just ignore them! It'll be like an Endbringer fight, only without the bad parts! That's good, right?"

"I..."

"Um... M-mom?"

"... yes Amy?"

"Considering the size of the party and the fact that the Reapers are relatively responsible... I think its more than likely they have a med-tent set up somewhere just in case. And... well... I _do_ owe it to them for the whole hospital thing. It's the least I can do..."

"Honey, come on. It'll probably be fun."

"... alright Mark, if you say so."

"WOOHOO! Alright, let's get going! We're not going home 'til the sun's up or Amy gets herself a man!"

"Wait, say wh- _ACK! VICKY!"_

"This is the fastest way! Lighten up, will you? This is going to be the best night ever!"


	13. Sonata 12

**Sonata 12**

"Alright, listen up." Armsmaster announced.

The heroes and heroes-in-training were a block away from the boardwalk, and already the music and lights were overwhelming. The Tinker had to shout to make himself heard.

"Director Piggot wants us to find a way to disband the Reapers' party. While not exactly the actions I'd like to take, she's still the Director, so we have to listen to her."

"Isn't this the kind of job we'd have BBPD helping us with?" Browbeat asked in confusion. "Or hell, let them handle entirely?"

Armsmaster sigher heavily as he kneaded his brow-ridge. "I attempted to request backup from the commissioner, but dispatch informed me that the department had its hands full tonight and couldn't spare us any help."

"Translation," Dauntless rolled his eyes. "Piggot burned every bridge we had with them with the press conference. Just like she's been torching everything lately."

Armsmaster wisely chose to ignore the statement, instead pressing on. "For now, I think that the best way to wrap this up without an all-out brawl would be to apprehend the ringleaders: the Reapers known as Gangsta, Grunge, Southern, Chicago Blues, Hip, Hop, Psychedelic and of course, the Composer herself. We'll need to be discrete to do it. Another goal is getting our teammates currently in there _out_ before they cause any more damage. Shadow Stalker, I want you to try and convince Clockblocker to leave, _quietly._ Shut off their sound systems if you can too."

Shadow Stalker's only reaction was to load her crossbow in acknowledgement before turning into shadow and darting through the wall of a building.

"Are you _sure_ that's such a good idea, sir?" Vista asked uneasily.

Armsmaster was silent for a moment before sighing heavily. "Honestly, no. But she's the stealthiest one present, so I'll take what I can get. Now, Aegis, Dauntless, Kid Win, I want you to fly up and-"

"Nope."

Armsmaster blinked in surprise. He'd expected resistance from Dauntless as of late, but _Aegis?_ "Care to explain why?"

The Ward silently raised an arm and pointed into the sky.

Looking up, Armsmaster watched as a pinprick of light flew higher and higher... and then...

BOOM!

Exploded in a shower of light. Moments later, several other lights started to rise.

"I'm loyal to the Protectorate... but there is no way in hell I'm doing that."

"Agreed."

"I'm with the kids."

Armsmaster ground his teeth in annoyance. "Fair enough... In that case, all of us will have to accept the Composer's invitation. We're going in through the front door. And... I understand that some of you might find this controversial, but orders are orders. We can't afford to set a precedent for disobeying the chain of command. Understand?"

He jerked his finger slightly in his glove, deactivating a few programs in his visor before his comrades gave him mumbled sounds of assent.

"Good. Now come on. Let's get this over with."

The group walked down the street, turning the corner and viewing the party in all its glory.

The street had been somewhat cordoned off, ropes tied off at both of the buildings leading to a pair of poles in the middle of the street. Standing between the poles with a tablet between his hands was Chicago, dressed up in a sort of combination of a suit and a hoodie, a tie loosely wrapped around his neck. Sleeping at both his sides were a pair of Garage Wolves, light from the spotlights that were madly wandering about reflecting off of their blue tattoo-claws.

Looming in front of the casual Reaper was the massive, unforgettable frame of Mush.

"Arlight, and _why_ do you want to join in on the party?" Chicago droned boredly.

"Umm..." The Merchant scratched his head slowly. "Look's like it's a lotta fun..."

Chicago nodded in agreement, tapping away at his tablet. "Bit loud for me, but I'm not one to complain. Alright, most crimes were you being attacked or heroes, no intentional or accidental casualties..." He drew a small plastic box out of his pocket, flicking it open and withdrawing a swab of cloth and a spray bottle. "Hold out your hand please.

Mush blinked in confusion. "Uhh...?"

"It's a spray drug test, checks your sweat."

"But... I'm sober."

"Not that I don't trust you, buuuut I don't trust you. So yeah, hand?"

The large Parahuman slowly held his hand out. Chicago swept the cloth along his palm and sprayed it before contemplating it. "Alright, let's see... hmm... were you in one of the Merchants' dens recently?"

"I had to get permission from the boss..."

"Must be second-hand smoke. Alright, fair enough. Now could you move along, there's a line behind you."

Mush glanced over his shoulder. Upon catching sight of the heroes, he grit his teeth furiously, turning around and bringing his fists up. Slowly, litter up and down the street started to drift towards him. The heroes reacted by getting into battle-ready stances...

"HEY!"

Until Chicago spoke up, the hounds sitting by him drawing their hackles back and growling loudly.

"Back off, the both of you, or I'll see to it that you _both_ regret it. Clear?"

"But..." Mush grunted angrily. "They're gonna arrest me! I don't wanna go to jail again! I can't!"

"And you won't," Chicago reassured firmly. "Just go in and enjoy the party, alright? So long as you don't cause any trouble, _nothing_ will happen to you. Understand?"

Mush stared at him silently for a moment before nodding slowly. "... alright. If you say so..." He cast a final, rueful glance back at the heroes before lumbering past Chicago and into the party.

The info-centered Reaper sighed heavily as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "From bringing down megacorporations and fatcats to juggling irritable Parahumans. I either went very very right, or very very wrong. Whatever. _Next!"_

Armsmaster marched up to Chicago, glaring down at him imperiously.

"Can I help you?" The Reaper asked in his best 'bored IT guy' voice.

"You let _Mush_ into your party." Armsmaster stated flatly.

"Yeah, and I let the Travellers in about half an hour ago, Circus fifteen minutes after that, Uber and Leet have been in here since the beginning, and not ten minutes ago, the whole of New Wave itself came in! Mrs. Dallon gave me a few sour looks, but apart from that... want me to go on?" Chicago grinned impishly.

Armsmaster ground his teeth, but Miss Militia placed herself in front of him before he could respond. "Um, yes, the Composer's invitation extended to us as well?"

"Indeed it did! A bit overly sanctimonious in my opinion, but hey, artists, what will you do. Now then..." He slid his fingers over his tablet's screen for a minute before humming in approval. "Alright, seems good here. Shadow Stalker not with you?"

"Um, no, we... needed a Ward to stay back at the gala?" Miss Militia repressed a wince at how weak the lie sounded to her ears.

"Riiiight... Well, if she does come, let's just hope she comes through one of the checkpoints we have set up. Its just in case of any Parahumans with _really_ bad rap sheets, and considering the fact that she's got several charges of assault..."

"Those records were sealed!" Armsmaster protested furiously.

"Records, yes! Mouths? People tend to blab about shadow-monsters pinning them with crossbows." Chicago's grin became slightly feral. "But hey, its alright! If she sneaks in then we'll just have security escort her out. Everything should be peachy so long as she cooperates peacefully."

By this point, collective thoughts of the heroes could be summarized in the word _'_ _shit.'_ The fact that Chicago's wolves appeared to somehow be laughing was _not_ a good sign.

"But hey, enough about hypotheticals!" Chicago spread his hands wide in invitation. "It's a party! Come in, celebrate, Clockblocker's got the right idea, follow his lead!"

The heroes glanced at each other nervously before finally passing through and into the throng of party-goers.

Once he was certain that they were out of earshot, Armsmaster tapped his helmet, activating a built-in earpiece. "Vista, I want you to hang back. When you see the chance, try and find a way to take him into custody."

The Ward nodded in understanding, peeling away from the group and disappearing into the crowd.

"The rest of you, split up and try and find who you can. Let's get this over with."

And with that, the heroes dispersed themselves.

 **-o-**

Chicago kept grinning until he was certain that the heroes were gone.

Once they were out of sight, he frowned, whipping his smartphone out of his pocket, tapping a number and bringing it to his ear. "Boss? ...Yeah, every last one save for Shadow Stalker, and I think she's in here anyways. I'll tell Grunge to keep his eyes peeled... Uh-huh, yeah, got it. Alright, will do, later Boss."

He hummed thoughtfully as he began tapping out a few text messages on his phone. _'_ _So... who'll they send to silence me? They'd better be damn good, because I don't intend to go without a fight. That, or if its a weaker one, I really_ won't _fight. Love to see someone like Vista try to carry me-'_

"DOGGY!"

"YIPE!"

Chicago whipped his head around in shock... and stared.

Latched around the neck of one of his clearly distressed Garage Wolves was a short girl who couldn't have been older than thirteen. She was cooing and giggling as she buried her face in its fur, running her hand up and down its neck.

"Uh... can I help you, miss?"

She giggled childishly as she tightened her grip on the wolf's neck. "Sorry, it's just that I _love_ Noise. They're so cute! I just wanna hug 'em and squeeze 'em and... and my parents don't really like the Reapers so when I saw one I just wanted to... to..." She looked up at him with ridiculously big watery eyes. "Can I hold onto him for just a bit longer? Pleeeease?"

The Garage Wolf angled its head up at Chicago, shaking its head frantically.

The Reaper was silent for a moment before sighing and waving a hand nonchalantly. "Take as long as you need, kid."

"THANK YOU!"

 _"_ _YIPE!"_

Chicago stared down at the girl the whole time she borderline-molested the construct. Slowly, he brought his phone up, flicked on the camera, took aim...

Before sighing and pocketing the device. "Nah... not worth it..."

 **-o-**

Clockblocker let out an uproarious laugh as he waved at the crowd. "Alright, alright, that's enough for now! Thanks for calling and have a nice night!"

 _"_ _You too!"_ The caller responded before hanging up.

"Well!" DJ Chiptune exclaimed. "Who knew that a kid could go off on tangents as random as that?! What was the kid's name?"

"Greg I think? Eh, whatever." DJ Synth waved the issue off before pounding away at his keyboard. "Time to move on! Let's see who's up next!" He tapped a button decisively. "Hello, caller! How do you do, cause you're on the Reaper Review!"

 _"_ _Hello, Clockblocker."_

Said Ward seemed to choke on air as he recognized the voice. "S-Shadow Stalker! What are you-!?"

 _"_ _Armsmaster wanted me to be subtle about this, but honestly? If you're not going to pretend about liking me, then I might as well return the favor. I've wanted to knock you off your pedestal for a_ long _time, dumbass. I'd say that cuffing you in front of everyone oughta help accomplish that."_

Clockblocker swallowed heavily as he glanced around nervously, but was shocked out of his fear when DJ Chiptune firmly planted a hand on his shoulder. "And _what!"_ He demanded loudly. "Makes you think that we'll let you take our main man away from us?"

 _"_ _Ha!"_ Shadow Stalker snorted incredulously. _"_ _What could you clowns do to stop me? 'Sides, this doesn't concern you! Just shut up and keep throwing your stupid party."_

Clockblocker made to say something...

"Stupid?"

But was interrupted by Synth's quiet question.

"Hoo boy, here we go." Chiptune grinned eagerly as he slowly stepped back from his partner in crime, dragging Clockblocker with him.

"STUPID!?" Synth roared furiously, snatching a microphone up and bellowing into it. "YOU _DARE_ TO CALL THIS PARTY STUPID! YOU LISTEN HERE AND YOU LISTEN GOOD, LITTLE GIRL! THIS HERE AIN'T NO MERE PARTY! Nooo..."

The DJ strode to the forefront of the stage, spreading his arms wide over the crowd.

"THIS IS OUR _REBELLION!"_ He roared into the microphone. "THIS IS THE REAPER REVOLUTION, WHERE WE ARE RESOLUTELY REPRESENTING OUR IRREFUTABLE, CONSTITUTIONAL, _GOD-GIVEN_ RIGHT TO GET DOWN AND _ROCK!"_

He whipped around and swept an accusatory finger over the surroundings. "DON'T YOU DARE TRY AND SPEAK ABOUT SUCH THINGS YOU COULDN'T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND, STALKER GIRL! LET ME BREAK IT DOWN FOR YOU, CLEAR AS DAY: WE AIN'T HEROES, AND WE AIN'T VILLAINS! WE! ARE! _REAPERS!"_

He held his mic out towards the crowd. "CAN I GET A HELL YEAH!?"

 _"_ _HELL YEAH!"_ The crowd roared in unison, their voices reverberating throughout the whole of the city.

"Wow." Clockblocker said numbly.

"Hehe, _yup!"_ Chiptune nodded in agreement. "He got punted out of the daytime channels cause the execs thought he was a bit too... passionate. But here amongst the Reapers? He's _just_ right."

"Let's make one thing clear, Shadow Stalker!" Synth proclaimed proudly. "If you want to come down and get this kid, our friend? Then you come down and get him! But in the process, you're gonna have to get through _me! And_ him!" He pointed at Chiptune, who nodded in agreement, "And _every! Reaper! Here!"_

"Gladly."

Synth calmly turned and watched as a three-dimensional shadow dropped from a nearby rooftop onto the stage. He barely even flinched as the shadow shook and shuddered until it finally coalesced as a masked teenage girl who was pointing a crossbow straight at his chest.

"But first, I gotta ask," She taunted. "What the _hell_ do you think you can do to stop me?"

Synth smirked in response. "The one thing _any_ self-respecting entertainer does whenever he's threatened while performing in a public place."

"And that would be?"

Synth's smirk devolved into a scowl as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. "SECURITY!" He bellowed into his microphone.

Shadow Stalker lowered her crossbow in shock. _"_ _Seriously?_ That's what you're gonna go with!? Call for-"

She was silenced by a large finger heavily tapping her on the shoulder. "Ma'am?"

The Ward looked over her shoulder, staring up at the large man looming over her.

Grunge was wearing a black uniform with the word 'SECURITY' written across his chest in white block letters. Flanking him were a pair of Mosh Pit Grizzlies, both wearing similar uniforms as well as black baseball caps and sunglasses.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," The bear-like man grunted.

"Are you _serious?"_ She snorted incredulously.

"Ma'am, all Parahumans need to be vetted before we allow them into the party. And you did _not_ get vetted. Please, come with me." He attempted to clamp a hand down on her shoulder, only to miss and go through living smoke.

"Fuck off, old man, I just want my idiot teammate." Shadow Stalker snarled.

"Yeah, well he _obviously_ doesn't want to go with you. So, we can do this the easy way..." The Grizzlies at his sides both stepped forwards menacingly. "Or the _hard_ way."

Shadow Stalker glanced between the bears before glaring at the Reaper. "Hard way." And with that, she darted forwards, shifting into shadows, passing through one of the Grizzlies and rematerializing on the other side. She raised her weapon at the back of Grunge's head...

SLAP!

When a large lump of slime and tentacles suddenly struck her midsection. "What the-?" She tried to yank the lump off...

ZAP!

" _YEARGH!"_

Before screeching in pain as a bolt of electricity shot through her, locking her muscles in place.

Grunge blinked in surprise before shooting a thankful thumbs-up at a nearby Reaper. "Thanks, Reggae."

The Rastafarian snorted as he waved the thanks off. "No problem, man. Just lendin' a helpin' hand is all. Not a lotta people that can stand straight after a sting from a jellyfish, be they Noise or no."

"Right, well..." Grunge grunted as he heaved the paralyzed Ward onto his shoulders. "I'll just show her the door." He waved at the DJs and remaining Ward. "Later guys."

The Reapers returned the gesture. "You too!"

Synch smirked as he turned to address the crowd. "Now then..."

Chiptune slapped the electronics and started up a new track. "LET'S _PARTY!"_

The resulting cheers were deafening.

 **-o-**

"So tell us," Victor inquired suspiciously. "What guarantee do we have that you won't discriminate against us for being villains?"

Chicago opened his mouth to answer...

When Shadow Stalked suddenly flew over his head, landing in a conveniently placed dumpster with a loud _SQUELCH!_

"AND _STAY OUT!"_ Grunge bellowed before marching back into the party.

Chicago stared after him for a second before raising an eyebrow at the villain. "Does _that_ answer your question?"

Victor shrugged carelessly. "Fair enough. Come on, gang!" He waved at the others following him. "Let's _party!"_

 **-o-**

Panacea felt her eye twitch involuntarily as she took in the scene before her.

She'd been prepared for the worst when she'd volunteered to work at the party's medical tent: broken limbs, alcohol poisoning, maybe someone suffering from the aftereffects of a roofie.

But no, the Reapers seemed to have a firm grip on things, ensuring that all fun was kept nice and clean.

So instead, Amy was treated to the ever-so-appetizing scene of Tattletale sitting on the side of a cot, hunched over and emptying her stomach into a bucket.

The villain had been in the tent when she'd gotten there, curled up and moaning miserably into the receptacle.

Her opinion on the Undersiders was... fairly negative, to say the least. Sure, they'd sent her a card with an apology, but that didn't change the fact that they'd _robbed a bank and held her hostage!_

Finally, the villain stopped heaving, grimacing as she looked up from the bucket. "Stupid freaking Reapers... that _sucked._ "

"What'd you do?" Amy asked sourly. "Drink too much or something?"

"Urgh..." Tattletale shook her head in denial. "Nah, tried drinking to dull the pain, just hurts like a bitch in the morning."

Panacea raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Pain?"

Tattletale waved a hand at her head noncommittally. "Thinker powers. Use 'em too much and... yeah."

"So what the heck did you have to use it so much on?"

"Cheating on poker."

"... how am I not surprised?"

The villainous Thinker scowled at the healer. "Oh bite me. _Everyone_ at the damn table was doing it, half the fun was supposed to be finding the best way to out-cheat everyone else... Fucking hell, last I saw Miss Militia was sitting down, and I think _she's_ got an eidetic memory. Damn it, it should be _me_ being the queen of counting cards, not her! Instead, I end up getting carried out of there and into here..."

Amy silently lamented the fifteen minutes Vicky had spent dragging her around trying to get her either hammered or hooked up before she'd finally been able to make her way to the tent, wishing she could have savored the scene of Tattletale being hauled in.

Then she squashed those thoughts with as much fear and prejudice as she could muster.

She swallowed heavily before throwing an accusatory glare at Tattletale. "Why would Miss Militia play poker anyways?"

Tattletale snorted in amusement. "Please, I don't need my powers to tell you she looked disgruntled as hell when she marched in. Piggy must have sent in the cavalry to squash our little party, but there's some dissension in the ranks~!" She sang gleefully.

Panacea sighed and rolled her eyes at the villain's antics. "Alright, whatever. Humor me: what went wrong with your little scheme?"

The villain frowned instantly. "Didn't count on the dealer. Freaking mind-screwing rule-breaking fox-man... I don't know _what_ kind of Noise the Composer used in his tattoos, but damn if it wasn't strong. Its like she gave that guy a... a higher plane of understanding. One glimpse and I'm like this, it's a wonder the guy can even _function..."_ She suddenly winced in pain, groaning as she rubbed at her suddenly throbbing temple.

Amy was silent as she watched Tattletale suffer from the drawbacks of her power. At least she could take solace in the fact that the damn villain was getting as good as she-

 _'_ _NO!'_ She scrunched her eyes shut and shuddered slightly, trying her best to fill her mind with as many repetitive nights in the hospital as she could. "I- look. I can't deal with brains, so you'll just have to live with it until it wears off. I-I'm sorry."

 _'_ _No you aren't~'_

 _'_ _Shutupshutupshutup.'_

Tattletale stared at her contemplatively for a moment before groaning and setting her bucket aside. "Alright, sit tight. This is going to hurt me a whole lot more than you, but..." She leaned back and looked Amy square in the eye. "I'm... going to try and help you out."

Panacea's jaw dropped in shock. "Wh- wait, _what!?_ Why would you think-!?"

"You're a bundle of nerves who just punished herself for a teeny tiny innocent dark inclination. If that doesn't speak of a whole shitload of issues, then I don't know what does."

Amy worked her jaw helplessly for a moment before hugging herself and looking away. "W-why would I want you to help me? _Why_ help me in the first place?!"

"Because... I recently had an epiphany." Tattletale sighed heavily. "See... karma? Yeah. It exists. It one hundred percent exists. I'm sure of it. I could belittle you, pick and pick at you till you crumbled to pieces for the sheer hell of it... but I've got a feeling the fallout would be _so_ far from worth it that it's not even remotely funny. So... I want to help you."

Panacea glanced at her incredulously. "Karma. You're serious. I- that's just- _why!?"_

"Well let's see..." Tattletale started counting off on her fingers. "Back in the bank, I noticed you. I could have had some fun, torn your psyche to shreds with a few words... but instead I didn't. Result? The Composer saves our asses from Bakuda. Then, I help diffuse a small point of contention with the Composer. Result? She saves our asses _again_ at a small get together we mean old villains had. And then _again_ I help Armsmaster with working on stopping one of Bakuda's bombs. Result?" She spread her arms wide. "One _kickass_ party! But then..."

She sighed heavily and started kneading her nose. "I try to cheat at one tiny, _innocent_ game of poker, and what happens!? I get my powers screwed over six ways from Sunday. Believe you me, karma exists and she is a hidebound bitch. And, well, you've already gotten a bit of payback for your years of service via the Reapers, so I'll just be picking up the rest of the slack by setting you straight. Or, maybe not literally, all things considered. Eh, who knows. Maybe if I'm lucky this time I'll get me a Ferrari..."

Amy stared at her silently for a moment before slowly shaking her head, then shaking it definitively. "No... n-no I-y-you can't. I mean, y-you're a Thinker, a villain and-and-and who knows what you could say or do or-or..." Her fingers began to bite into her arms, her whole body starting to shake as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. "I... I don't deserve it. I-I mean I've stopped-stopped _caring!_ I-I've just... I've lied and and and I'm becoming just like-EEP!"

She was cut off when Tattletale suddenly stood up and wrapped her arms around Amy, holding her head against her shoulder. "It's alright, it's alright..." The villain said, her voice carrying a slight hint of uncertainty. "Look, just... just let it all out. Alright?"

For almost a full minute, Amy was silent, just sitting there, dumbfounded. And then...

She threw her arms around Tattletale, buried her face in her shoulder and cried and cried and cried, Tattletale simply sitting there and letting her.

 **-o-**

Battery trudged steadfastly through the crowd, muttering murderously as she trudged through the crowd searching for the bar. _'_ _Murder him. Adore him. Murder him. Adore him. One or the other, one or the other... sometimes he makes this_ way _too hard!'_

Suddenly, a slurred voice shouted over the din of the music and the crowd. "AND ZAT MAKESH FI'TEEN! PAY ME, BISHES!"

Battery's eye twitched beneath her mask as she recognized the voice. _'_ _On second thought, sometimes things are far too easy.'_

She barged through the crowd, lightly pushing people aside until she finally reached her goal.

Ethan was cackling madly as he tilted back and forth in his seat. He was counting out a huge wad of cash he was holding, occasionally accepting bills from the surrounding observers. Arrayed between him and the barkeeping Reaper were a pair of equally massive mountains of glasses, each one drained of alcohol.

South merely shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the intoxicated man. "Fifteen. Pints. And I thought _I_ was the only one who could pull that off and stay conscious. But you? You manage to stay on your seat." He raised a hand to the brim of his stetson and dipped it down. "I tip my hat to you, sir."

"DAYM SHTRAIGHT!" The inebriated un-costumed hero bellowed, slamming his fist on the bar. "Now! Whaddaya say about a 'nozer round?! After all..." He waved the bundle of cash around invitingly. "Ah've got enough to _paaay!"_

"Actually..." Battery growled, slapping a hand on her husband's shoulder. "I think he's had enough."

Ethan looked over his shoulder at her blearily before giving her a goofy grin. "Hey! A-Ah know yuuu! Yer one of thoze... thoze heroes... Ba... Batter... the _pretty_ one!"

South ignored his customer's ramblings, instead giving the hero a neutral look. "Aw c'mon now, little missy. You sure you can't just let this feller go for a minute more? I'm sure he's fine."

"You're just saying that because he's got a lot of money and you're impressed at how much he was able to drink."

"... your point?"

"Alright, that's it, you're coming with me!" She stated firmly, grabbing at his shoulders and trying to pull him away from the bar.

Instead of letting himself be dragged away, Ethan desperately clutched at the bar, firmly keeping himself in place. _"_ _Nononono,_ a-ah can't go wit chu. S-s-see, ah-ah..." He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, his breath thick with alcohol. _"_ _Ah'm married!"_ He immediately collapsed against the bar, giggling madly.

Battery blinked at him in confusion for a moment before glancing around hastily. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying attention to either of them. Even South had moved to the end of the bar and was surreptitiously polishing a mug as he looked away from them. Satisfied that they were alone in the crowd, Battery slid into the seat next to her husband, continuously checking for any listeners. Finally... "Tell me about her."

Ethan grinned ecstatically, his eyes lighting up with glee. "Yu shure? Okie dokie! See... she'sh ze most _beeoutiful_ pershon ah've _ever_ known. Well... she might've been lettin' herself go a bit lately..."

For no apparent reason, the wood beneath Battery's fingers began to crack and spiderweb.

"But that don't matter to me! See... see..." He leaned in close, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "Ya see... tha first time I saw her...I couldn't get over how _cute_ she was! Kinda, kinda... kinda like a _puppy!_ A cutesy wittle puppy! Jush... jush adorable..."

It was taking Battery a _lot_ of effort to keep her cheeks from flooding with blood.

"But, see, see... she... she didn't laike me at first, so.. so... Ah committed ze ultimayte taboo... Ah... ah..." Ethan slapped an open palm on the bar definitively. "Ah _changed._ Zey... zey always shay, don't, don't _change_ fer luv. But-but-but... but I _did!_ Aye changed and aye changed and aye changed... so much till... till I didn't reco'nize mahself in za _mirror..._ And... and ya know _what?"_

"What?" Battery breathed, enraptured by her husband's voice.

 _"_ _IT WUZ WORTH IT!"_ He roared, this time slamming his fist down and rattling most of the bar. "Ev'ry secon', ev'ry instant ah spent with her, it wuz all _worth it!_ The gu-the guy I wuz... he was _shit._ Nothin' but a piece o' garbage... But he-he's dead now, he's dead... and ah-ah'm happy... happy wiz za one ah luv..." He peered contemplatively in one of the empty mugs before turning and giving his wife a forlorn look. "D'you... d'you think she knows? D'you think she knowz how mush ah luv her? Jus... jus how mush ah absolut'ly _adore_ her? Tot'ly an uncon-uncondi... f'rever?"

Battery worked her jaw for a second before nodding definitively. "Yes. _Yes_ she does." And with that, she grabbed the back of his head and rammed their lips together.

They stayed like that for almost a full minute before they finally pulled back for breath, breathing heavily as they pressed their foreheads together.

Finally, it was Ethan who broke the silence. "Do you think she also knows that I've won the St. Patty's drinking contest in almost every bar in every city I've been in for the last ten years?"

"No, I don't think she- wait..."

Ethan leaned back and flashed her an impish grin. "Hiya, puppy!"

Battery's jaw slowly dropped open as the lines on her outfit started to light up. "You. Fucking. _Son of a-!"_

"Aww, I love you too, puppy!" He hastily stole another kiss, then took advantage of her shock and confusion to place his hands on her shoulders and shove her into the crowd. "CROWD-SURF THIS WOMAN!" He bellowed exuberantly.

The heroine attempted to step back towards him... then blinked in shock when she felt hands wrap around her arms and legs. "Hey, what the-YEARGH!" She screeched in shock when she was suddenly wrenched off her feet and into the air. "HEY- WHAT ARE YOU- _PUT ME DOWN!"_ She attempted to activate her powers, but her concentration was thrown off by the constant moving and shifting. "DAMN IT ALL, _ETHAN!"_

"LOVE YOU TOO, PUPPY!" He called out, lifting a new glass to her. He chuckled as he turned and faced the bar again, gulping down the contents of the mug. "Ahh, I'm _loving_ this party!"

"You realize that she's going to kill you, right?"

Ethan glanced at the new voice before shrugging and continuing to sip at his mug. "What can I say, mister hero who I've never met before? I _love_ messing with her."

Dauntless looked at his friend casually before shaking his head in defeat. "Fair enough. Now... what do I have to do to get a drink around here?"

Ethan raised a hand and snapped his fingers. "Barkeep! One for my new friend over here!"

"I'll take one too!"

The heroes, both costumed and uncostumed, turns their heads to stare at the new voice...

And Victor stared right back.

For unending minutes, the tension mounted...

SLAM!

Until it was broken by South slamming a pair of mugs in front of the hero and villain.

"You two start a fight, you both get your asses whipped. Clear?"

Victor and Dauntless nodded shakily in agreement.

"Good. Now enjoy your liquor and smile. It's a party!" And with that, he moved away to other customers.

Victor and Dauntless gripped their mugs uneasily, neither truly breaking their staring contest with the other.

Finally...

"So... What do we do now?" Dauntless asked.

"... drink and don't look at each other?" Victor propositioned.

"I suggest!" Ethan stated bluntly, a shit-eating smirk on his face. "That we deal with this the same way that I deal with _every_ problem I face."

"And that would be?"

Ethan thrust his mug high into the air, his grin widening a few molars to near mania. "FUCK IT!" And with that, he drank.

Dauntless and Victor glanced at each other a final time before shrugging and leaning over to clink their mugs.

"FUCK IT!"

And with that, the three of them drank in peace.


	14. Sonata 13

**Sonata 13**

Gallant breathed heavily in his outfit as he moved through the crowd. It was taking all of his concentration to keep from getting swept along in the massive maelstrom of emotions that was tearing away at him. It wasn't that it was unpleasant, per se, far from it! As a point of fact, the rush of euphoria that was cascading around him was actually a pleasant break from the usual undertone of doom and gloom that seemed to universally haunt Brockton Bay's citizens.

No, the issue was that if he gave in, he had the feeling that he'd get so swept up in the sheer energy of it all that he wouldn't be able to stop partying until the party itself ended, and even then he suspected he'd most likely have a residual buzz lingering as a result.

Still, with any luck, this wouldn't take too long. All he needed to do was concentrate. All he needed to do was _concentrate!_ All he needed to do was find-

"And thiiiiis is Game Street!"

"We wheeled in a load of arcade games and stuff and jury-rigged 'em so that no-one has to pay! FYI, _we_ hold the high scores. Challenge us if you dare!"

Find them.

A quick glance up confirmed that Hip and Hop were floating above the crowd, the both of them speaking to a blue tattoo-winged mink with a camera-mounted helmet strapped to its head. Another glance at his surroundings confirmed that no other Reapers were nearby and none of the partiers had recognized him.

He'd ditched his power-armor the minute he'd gotten the chance, ducking into a nearby alley and stripping himself of it before wearing a backup cloth mask that all Wards and Heroes carried around in case of an emergency. He'd also managed to grab a gray, non-descriptive hoodie from a Reaper who had been handing them out.

Gallant sighed heavily as he slowly raised a hand to point it at the twins. _'_ _This should disrupt their broadcasting,'_ He thought remorsefully. _'_ _Sorry you two, it's nothing personal. Just business.'_

He reached deep, deep inside himself for the familiar pool of energy, harnessed as many red, _angry_ thoughts as he could and-

WHAM!

Was swept off his feet and slammed into an alley by a blur of white.

Hip and Hop blinked, looking down in surprise.

"You hear something?"

"I 'unno. Hey, I'm hungry, wanna get some nachos?"

"You _are_ my sister!"

As the twins drifted off towards the buffet, Gallant groaned as he clutched his ringing head. "What hit me...?"

"A freaking _pissed off girlfriend!"_

Gallant's mind snapped into focus as a strikingly familiar voice cut through the haze. _"_ _Victoria!?"_

The ball-gown clad heroine gave him a cold smile. _"_ _Hi_ honey!" She crooned sarcastically. "Say, answer me this, would you? What the hell _did you think you were doing!?"_ The last words were hissed out furiously.

Gallant stared at her incredulously for a moment before setting his jaw. "No, what the hell do _you_ think you were doing?! I _had_ them. I-!"

"Could have brought _every_ Reaper in this party down on your head? Oh yeah, _real_ smart plan, genius!" Glory Girl snarled. "They've got the huge Reaper guy, Grunge, and a few of his very _large_ friends acting as security! They already threw out Shadow Stalker when she tried to mess with the Review- Five hundred K views already, just so you know- And you should have _seen_ what they did to this one guy they caught toting around roofies! Suffice to say I am never going to look at crabs the same way again..."

Gallant shivered slightly at the connotations of the ominous statement before reasserting himself. "Regardless, it's still my _job_ to stop them! Armsmaster gave me orders-!"

"That come straight down from _Piggot,_ meaning that in my opinion, I'd take them with a grain of salt." Victoria snorted before sighing heavily. "Look, Gallant... Dean... I can appreciate you trying to be the good soldier boy and all that, but look around you!" She waved her arms around. "It's a party! Come on, lighten up. There's no way you can stop something the people love so much. If you can't beat 'em... is it so bad to join 'em?"

Gallant stared at her silently for a moment before sighing heavily and hanging his head. "I'm sorry, Vicky, but I just can't. Can..." He gave her a pleading look. "Can you forgive me?"

Victoria stared at him in turn before slowly nodding her head. "Yeah... I can."

"Good. Now-"

"The real question is whether _you_ will forgive _me."_

"Wait, what are you-MMPH!"

He felt a jolt of surprise when Glory Girl suddenly drew him into a kiss... and then everything became a swirl of lights and colors.

When he everything fell back into focus, the one thing that captured his attention was his _beautiful_ girlfriend's intoxicating smile.

"Now..." She breathed in his ear. "Do you remember where you put your armor?"

He broke out of the rapture he was in from the current of emotions flowing through him to nod languidly.

"Good..." Victoria grinned eagerly. "Now come on, let's get you all suited-up. I want to dance with my _man_ tonight!"

And with that, the two of them left the alleyway, both giggling eagerly at the thought of events to come.

 **-o-**

Kid Win swallowed heavily as he slowly steered his hoverboard above the crowd, sweeping his gaze left and right over the party-goers. He'd _tried_ to mingle with them for a time, but the sheer... _intensity_ of it all, the movement, the energy, triggered a fight or flight reaction. So for now, he was keeping well above the crowd, where the only other fliers were winged Reapers or the odd Noise bird or bat.

Honestly, it wasn't like he even _wanted_ to be there. He wanted to be in his lab, attempting to finally, _finally_ find out what he was actually _good_ for. That, and he wanted to fine-tune his Alternator Cannon, several parts were showing strain, incapable of supporting so much stress simultaneously. Plus he _really_ should have gotten around to filling out the paperwork for Piggot a lot sooner.

He sighed and hung his head as he flew. That was another issue. The Director had been slightly... irritable the past few months. As far as he, or _anyone_ for that matter, could tell, her temper had been mounting higher and higher every time another piece of Reaper art surfaced. The gang-group- _whatever's_ rising popularity was a consistent source of ire for the Director. It had only been a matter of time until something gave. Apparently the Reaper's involvement in halting the ABB's rampage had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Now the consequences were spread out below Kid Win.

If he was being honest with himself, Kid Win somewhat _liked_ the Reapers. They were definitely a fair sight better than the usual brand of crime that had as-of-yet populated Brockton Bay. Who knew, maybe he'd have even enjoyed partying a bit with them.

But, sadly, that wasn't a possibility. Director Piggot had given Armsmaster her orders and Armsmaster had given Kid Win his.

 _'_ _Still...'_ He thought wistfully. _'_ _Maybe there's a loophole?_ _Armsmaster said to look for the chief Reapers. Maybe if I just flew around in a circle, stayed out of sight and tried not to draw-'_

"LOOK OUT!"

SMASH!

Suddenly, a weight smashed into Kid Win's side, knocking him out of the sky and to the ground in a tumbling mess of limbs and metal and plastic and _pain._

Finally, the world slowly stopped spinning as Kid WIn lay groaning on the ground. He slowly came to be aware of a laughing mass that was resting on his chest. He _then_ became aware that said mass was _laughing._

"Oh hohoho _man_ that was _AWESOME!"_

Kid Win tilted his head up... and he took in the strikingly familiar hood that the figure was wearing. His blood ran cold as he made the connection. "Rune!?" He squeaked incredulously.

The teenage Empire cape merely giggled in response as she laid on his chest.

The Ward glanced around nervously in despair as he searched for any and all means of escape he could find. The last time he and Rune had fought, he'd managed to chase her off via an exceedingly _cheap_ shot. One that she hadn't appreciated, judging by the way she'd been screaming bloody murder after him.

As hastily as he could, Kid Win scrambled to his feet, dragging Rune up with him. "L-l-look, Rune! I-I'm sorry about the whole dumpster thing, alright!? P-please don't try and kill me, the Reapers won't-!"

"What are you _tawking_ about?" Rune snickered. Kid Win blinked in shock when he noticed how she was swaying on her feet slightly. He _then_ stiffened in terror when she suddenly pressed herself up against him, running a hand over his chest. "Why wud I _ever_ be angry at someone as cuuuute as you?"

At that point, three facts popped out at Kid Win. First, Rune was _definitely_ slurring her words. Second, There was a pungent smell on her breath as it flowed from her mouth, which was _way_ too close to his face. And third...

"Were you flying a surfboard?" He whimpered, incredulously eyeing the slab of plastic that was haphazardly lying next to his own hoverboard.

"Yup!" The teenage villain nodded eagerly. "I thought it would be fun! Kowabunga dude!" She threw a hand up in a shaka sign.

 _'_ _Oh shit, she's drunk off her ass.'_ Kid Win mentally groaned. Out loud, he nervously placed his hands on the girl's shoulders. "L-listen, Rune, can you try and focus please?"

"Aww..." She pouted in exaggerated misery. "But I don't _wanna!"_

"Please try!" He hissed frantically, glancing around for any on-lookers. Luckily, no-one was paying them much attention. Apparently mid-air collisions were common amongst the Reapers. "Look, a-are you here with anyone, do you have a supervisor or-?"

Suddenly, a large and _very_ heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder and squeezed, _hard._

"Yes, she does, _kleine Göre."_ A deep,heavily-accented German voice rumbled.

Slowly, shivering in terror, Kid Win craned his neck around and stared up at the person behind him.

He knew who it was. He recognized the silver shoulder spikes. He recognized the Nazi officer hat. And he _definitely_ recognized the glowing red goggles, bordered on all sides by pitch black cloth.

"Krieg." He whispered in numb terror.

"Tell me, _boy,_ " The neo-nazi rumbled darkly, "How do you wish to die for the crime of injuring and embarrassing my beloved niece, hm? Swiftly? Or very, very _slowly?"_

Kid Win stared up at one of Kaiser's more ardent supporters fearfully, praying for some way out of the steaming hot mess he'd landed himself in.

Luckily, a way presented itself.

"Aw c'mon Unkie Krieg!" Rune giggled as she all but hung off of Kid Win's neck. "Don't stone him! He's really really _cute!_ I wanna have some fun wit' him!"

Krieg stared down at the female Parahuman in silence for a moment before refocusing on Kid Win. "Allow me to make something clear to you, _boy,"_ He stated briskly."I allowed my niece to attend this... _event_ because I believed her to be mature enough to handle herself. Apparently, I overestimated her alcohol tolerance. Luckily for you, she seems to have taken a liking to you. So long as this attachment remains, then you are safe. However..."

He leaned down until his glaring red lenses were mere inches away from Kid Win's mask. "Should that status be revoked for _any_ reason whatsoever over the course of the night, I will _personally_ chain your feet to a cinderblock and launch said block out over the bay. _Am. I. Clear?"_

All Kid Win could do was whimper miserably as he slowly nodded, actively fighting to keep his bladder under control.

"Enough talk!" Rune interrupted impatiently, clutching at one of Kid Win's hands and pointing towards the heart of the crowd. "Come! _VE DANCE!"_

Kid Win only had a single moment to lament his fate before he was all but yanked off his feet.

 **-o-**

Unseen in the shadows of the party, a single individual was sitting in an obscured corner, a tophat sitting discarded at his side. Unlike most people would expect, the figure wasn't sad or sulking. He was... happy. Grinning contentedly as he watched the people dancing around.

 _"_ _Hello?"_

The figure's smile faded ever so slightly as he glanced down at the tablet that was sitting in his lap. Displayed upon it was the pale, gaunt face of a brown-haired woman.

"Hey..." The man whispered quietly.

 _"_ _How does it look?"_ The woman asked quietly.

The man's smile returned ever-so-slightly. "See for yourself..." He held the tablet up, giving its camera a clear view of the party.

 _"_ _Wow..."_ She breathed in awe. _"_ _It looks like they're having fun..."_

"Yeah..." The man nodded in agreement before flipping the tablet around and forcing his smile o widen a bit. "And you'll be able to have fun like that too. When we get you fixed and we go home, alright? We'll be able to dance. Forever."

The woman was silent for a seemingly interminable amount of time before a ghost of a smile graced her lips.

 _"_ _You promise?"_

"Of course, I do..." The man slowly brought the tablet up and hugged it to his chest.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he hugged the woman as hard as he could.

"I promise..."

 _"_ _...I love you, Krouse."_

"... yeah. Me too, Noelle. Me too..."

 **-o-**

Armsmaster marched imperiously through the crowd, watching as the party-goers solemnly parted before him.

 _'_ _Alright, I've checked the food area, the gaming area, that fight ring they had set up... logically, I suppose there's only one place that remains...'_

"The stage..." He muttered to himself.

He made to walk towards the source of the thumping music...

FWOOSH!

When the sound of fire flaring up behind him caused him to whip around and raise his halberd defensively.

He had a second to take in the purple and yellow fox that was floating at his eye-level before one of the multiple tattoo-tails swishing behind it languidly floated in front of his face and pressed itself on his helmet, between his eyes.

After that, the world was engulfed in tattoo-flames.

When the flames faded away, he had moved.

He was now on a rooftop bordering the stage-area with a clear line of sight to the party's main moshpit. Arrayed across the rooftop was a semi-circle of sofas, with one raised up slightly on a platform.

Laid out on one of the couches to Armsmaster's left was Gangsta, her legs kicked up on the couch's sidearm. On the right, sitting up with a high amount of poise, was a Reaper in a ball-room gown, her face covered by a porcelain opera mask. Standing behind the central couch was Grunge, tall and proud with his arms crossed behind his back. Two of his grizzlies were standing at both sides of the couch.

And there, laid back in the central couch, was the Composer, completing the stately aura of the locale.

"Hello, Armsmaster," The primary Reaper greeted cordially, gesturing at the fox Noise and causing it to drift towards her. "So sorry for the abrupt invitation, but several of my Reapers were starting to complain about how you were ruining their good times." Once the fox reached her side, she reached out and tapped it on the forehead, causing it to devolve into static and soak into her arm. Once she was done, she shuddered heavily and leaned back in her seat. "Damn I hate making those things. Stupid spatial warping, how the hell do Movers do it?"

Armsmaster stood up as tall as he could, steeling his back as he stared at the girl. "Composer," he stated with an air of definity.

"Yes yes, that's my name, don't wear it out," She waved a hand lackadaisically. "So! Would you like to sit down or remain standing? I'm sure you'll want to be comfortable. Sorry about the decor, I don't normally like things this... imperialistic, but, well..." The Composer cast a light glare at a snickering Gangsta. "That's what happens when you leave the small details to a friend and two particularly mischievous Undersiders."

The hero ignored her statement, instead choosing to watch her solemnly. "Composer. You are under arrest for disturbing the peace, inciting an unlawful assembly, illegal sale of alcohol without a license, and multiple counts of noise pollution. Please come quietly."

Almost instantly, the Composer and all her Reapers sat up in their seats, silently staring at the hero.

Finally, the Composer raised a hand and snapped her fingers. "Gangsta. Waltz. Go. Make sure everything is ready."

The female Reapers nodded in agreement, standing up simultaneously. Gangsta produced a pair of wings and took to the air while the other one, Waltz, strode towards the building's fire-escape.

The Composer glanced up at Grunge momentarily, but the Reaper shook his head with an air of finality. She responded by simply shrugging noncommittally before readdressing Armsmaster. "Please, Armsmaster, sit," She gestured at the couch on her right.

"I have no intention of sitting, Composer." He responded stiffly. "Please come with me. If you resist arrest, I can and _will_ take you in by force."

The Composer was silent as she stared at him for a minute before raising her cane and tilting the brim of her hat down over her eyes. "Mister Armsmaster, let me be clear: this is _our_ party. This place is under _our_ authority, _not_ yours. While you are here, you are here as _our_ guest and you play by _our_ rules. I just want to speak with you in a calm, cool and collected manner. But if you _insist_ on inciting conflict while you are here..."

Grunge flashed his arms into claws, while the Grizzlies raised their hackles and flexed their claws.

"Then we shall meet brute force with brute force. So! One last time..." The Composer tilted her hat up just a bit, staring straight into Armsmaster's visor with cold indifference. "Sit. Down. Now."

Armsmaster stared at her in return before silently trudging towards the indicated couch and heavily dropping into it.

The Composer watched him solemnly for a moment before sighing and running a hand over her face. "I apologize, that was out of line. It's just... I've been so used to having my Reapers work alongside me willingly that I've had to... acclimate myself, if you will, to actively persuading others. I've started to learn that when the kind, persuasive way doesn't work, its just better to cut straight to the chase. I trust you understand?"

Armsmaster slowly nodded in agreement. "I... comprehend, I suppose. The villains of this city are far from reasonable."

"Nonono _no!"_ The Composer groaned, grimacing under her scarf as she ground the heel of her palm into her hand. "Damn it all Armsmaster, I thought you were _better_ than that!" She sighed heavily as she cast a tired glare at the hero. "You're falling into the trap!"

"Trap?" The Tinker questioned.

"Yes!" The Reaper threw her hands up in exasperation. "The same trap Piggot and the PRT and most of the people of the world have fallen into! 'The villains' you call them! You're talking about them as though they're a breed of their own! You're _dehumanizing_ them! You make it impossible to negotiate, to find a middle way that keeps everyone happy, by seeing them as monsters!"

"And what of Lung or Kaiser?" Armsmaster questioned accusingly. "Or Skidmark or Bakuda? What do you suggest? That we try and 'negotiate' with them? With killers, murderers of the highest order?"

"I'm not saying that they're not bad. They are criminals, of that there is no doubt. But they are criminals of a far lesser scale when compared to the _true_ monsters of the world, such as Nilbog or the Nine. They're dangerous humans... but they're not monsters. Humans with families, likes and dislikes..." She sat up and looked Armsmaster in his visor once anew. "Hate their crimes, sure. But try not to hate them."

Armsmaster hung his head quietly as he mulled over her statement before looking up again. "I still need to arrest you, Composer. You _have_ committed the crimes I cited."

The Composer exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, moving her head to show it. "Yes yes, you have a job to do, except... you're wrong on one point. The Reapers are guilty of no crimes."

"Wrong. Distur-"

"Yes, yes, yes," The Composer waved a hand dismissively. _"_ _But!"_ She jabbed her cane at him. "There's a little something you _don't_ know. Namely... a few forms in the city's digital bureaucracy, signed by an 'Aria Melody'."

Armsmaster jerked his gloves for a bit, digging around in City Hall's database until he finally found the relevant documents.

A quick read-through caused his mouth to run dry.

"I trust that everything is in order?" The Composer asked innocently.

The Tinker stared at her in shock, his mouth working helplessly. "How- Why didn't anyone know!?"

The teenage Parahuman shrugged languidly. "It must have been a government oversight, I suppose. After all, Chicago and Tattletale are quite good at finding the cracks and openings in the system. Don't worry though, on paper everything was well and truly legal."

The hero ground his teeth in frustration. "And _off_ paper!?" He demanded.

The Composer tapped her cane against her scarf before nodding in agreement. "To quote a phrase often used by my good friend Gangsta: 'you can't prove jack shit.'"

Armsmaster's grip on his halberd tightened dramatically as his mind searched for a solution. _Any_ solution. "I can still pin the noise pollutions charges on you."

The Composer rolled her eyes again in derision. "Well technically, noise pollution is only a _fineable_ offense, but very well, if you insist!" She stuck her wrists out towards him. "Take me away! Lock me up and throw away the key!"

Armsmaster got up, started to reach for the handcuffs in his utility belt...

"Yes. Arrest me for noise pollution and take me back to the PRT through the crowd of people, both normal and Parahuman, who are enjoying the party we're throwing. Say, run the numbers for me, will you? Just how many do you think will have smartphones with internet connections?"

When he was floored by her following statement.

The Composer crossed her arms as she stared the hero down. "Let's be honest here, Armsmaster. The one thing that both the Protectorate and PRT have in common? The two first letters of their names that rule them with an iron fist. If you try and take me? You can kiss any and all public support goodbye."

Armsmaster's jaw twitched imperceptibly. "That's a guess. Not a definitive fact."

"No no no, it's a highly likely _possibility!"_ She corrected before standing up and striding towards the edge of the rooftop. The Composer then swept her arm out, gesturing with her cane at the crowd. "Come, look and behold!"

Armsmaster frowned as he watched her cautiously, assigning a hidden camera in his helmet to keep watch on Grunge, who hadn't moved an inch the whole time. "Revelations 6:1 to 6:8, heralding the arrival of each of the Four Horsemen."

The Composer tilted her head slightly as she glanced back at him. Glimmering in her eyes was the tiniest, nigh non-existent spark of madness. "Heralding the end of an _era_. Tattletale recommended it. I find it fitting. You?"

Armsmaster didn't respond. He merely stepped up, looked out into the moshpit... and stared.

Stared as he watched a clearly drunk Dauntless and Victor all but dragging a clearly reluctant Night and Fog across the dance floor.

Stared as he watched Battery being carried across the top of the crowd on the hands of the dancers.

Stared as he watched Mush slowly melt out of a pile of debris and garbage he'd morphed into an intricate pillar, to the applause of the onlooking Reapers.

Stared as he watched Velocity dancing around wildly.

Stared as he watched Othala knock back shot after shot alongside an extravagant Lady Photon, a sulking Brandish and Purity.

Stared as he watched Glory Girl holding up a fully-armored Gallant in front of Hip and Hop as they gave what appeared to be a very exuberant interview.

Stared as he watched Tattletale needle a meek and skittish Panacea onto the dance-floor.

"Do you see, Armsmaster?" The Composer breathed lightly. "Reaper, hero, villain, it doesn't matter. Tonight, we crush any and all boundaries. Tonight, _no one cares_ about who's who."

"The Director-"

"Addendum: No one who matters. Listen, Armsmaster..." She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "You're a great hero. You've got a nigh flawless track record that no one can possibly deny. One night. Just one night of slacking off, of relaxing and rejoicing and celebrating... that won't hurt anyone! Just for tonight... can't you let things go?"

Armsmaster stared at her contemplatively for a second... before turning to face the other Reaper on the roof. "Grunge, correct? You... work for the PRT?"

The muscle-bound man hesitated slightly before nodding in confirmation. "Yes sir."

"...why did you join the Reapers?"

Grunge was silent for a moment before reaching up and tipping his hat down. "I believe in the PRT sir. I believe in the work we do and I believe in the good men and women that I serve alongside with. That being said..." He raised his head, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "I feel I haven't violated the oaths I took in any way, shape or form. I have not divulged classified information, provided false information, coordinated sabotage... and I have not willingly fraternized with wanted villains. The Reapers aren't villains... they're just the Reapers. Sir."

Armsmaster didn't respond. He merely bowed his head in thought for a full minute. Finally, he raised his head, faced the Composer...

When a ringing noise came from Grunge's pocket. The Reaper whipped the device out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?... got it." He hung up and looked at his boss. "They're ready."

The chief Reaper sighed sadly as she turned back to face the stage. "My apologies, Armsmaster, but our time is up. The crescendo of tonight's performance is nigh and I'm needed elsewhere. But please..." She shot him a mirthful look. "Please. Feel free to enjoy the show."

Before Armsmaster could react, a burst of static erupted from the Composer's lower back, coalescing into a trio of swishing tattoo-fox tails before she was engulfed in a burst of flames.

Armsmaster stared at where the Reaper had been moments before, right up until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Better get comfy," Grunge grunted. "After all... this is gonna be one helluva show."

 **-o-**

Chanson tapped her foot idly as she stood at the back of the stage, watching the crowd move all around her and the DJs and renegade Ward play with the controls arrayed before them. "You're _certain_ that everything is set up properly?" She spoke into the phone she was holding.

 _"_ _Yes, yes, it's all hooked up,"_ Waltz responded in exasperation.

"Good, good, just make sure that ruffian Gangsta doesn't damage my investment, hmm? I will be _ever_ so cross if she ruins this. I wouldn't want to have to-"

 _"_ _Chanson? You're starting to go to the creepy cutthroat-business-mode place."_

"Ahem!" The fashionable Reaper hastily readjusted her mask. "Right, well then, let's just pray everything goes according to plan! After all, it's _showtime!"_

 _"_ _Alright, got it. Good luck!"_

"You too!" Chanson clicked her phone off and flashed a thumbs-up at DJ Synth who nodded in acknowledgment before nudging his partner. The two grinned at each other eagerly before simultaneously hitting switches on their controls.

Nigh instantaneously, the lights and music throughout the party died out, plunging the show into silence and darkness, save for the relatively scant luminescence provided by the streetlights and storefronts.

"Attention partygoers!" Chiptune announced whole-heartedly.

"Sorry to put a momentary damper on festivities, but we've gotta set the stage!" Synth agreed wholeheartedly. "See, this whole time, we've been setting up for a coup-de-grace, a final crescendo for tonight!"

"So right here and right now, we ask you all to direct your attention to the stage or the screen so generously provided to us by Uber and Leet so that you can watch the spectacle unfold! Literally!"

"But first! Any good event requires an appropriate soundtrack! So please please please put your hands together for one of the newest inclusions to our ranks!"

"The one!"

"The only!"

 _"_ _Ladyyyy Freeeestyyyyyle!"_ They concluded in unison, gesturing towards the back of the stage, where an array of spotlights lit up, their beams framing a woman who had seemingly appeared from thin air.

Hip and Hop dropped out of the darkness, hovering around her and directing their camera to acquire the female Reaper's best angles.

The woman's body was shrouded in a silky, tailored black robe that seemed to hang off her body. A thin veil of black-fabric hung in front of her mouth. A bandana was tied over her shoulder-length black hair, which was tightly braided against her skull.

Slowly, languidly, she strode up towards the front of the stage, moving in such a way that was only attainable via much, _much_ practice.

Reaching the DJs, she held a hand out, into which they promptly placed a microphone. She swept her gaze about the hushed crowd, brought the device to her mouth, and then...

She began to sing.

The sound of her voice was... captivating. Beyond amazing. The whole of the crowd was silent as they listened to the awe-inspiring product of the woman's vocal cords.

And then...

 **"** **CAAAW!"**

It happened. From behind the buildings that lay behind the stage rose the massive form of Gangsta's nigh trademark Cornix Canor, flying straight up into the sky. In its talons, it carried a massive contraption of metal, composed of a trio of spools arranged in a triangular manner, each containing a large bolt of white cloth. As the avian Noise ascended, the cloth unfurled behind it, leaving a trail of blinding white in its path that was illuminated by a number of searchlights that lit up and illuminated the Cornix and its trail as it rose.

It rapidly rose for a few dozen yards until it finally started to slow down.

 **-o-**

"Alright, slow down, slow down," Waltz shouted over the sound of the wind rushing around them. "We've got about forty yards in each bolt and we're starting to run out!"

"Got it!" Gangsta nodded in agreement, mentally ordering her mount to decrease its flapping.

"Alright, almost, almost... aaaaand... alright, that's all of it! Stop here!" Waltz stuck her hand out. "Now... a bit to the left... bit forward... there we go!" She smirked successfully as she watched the walls of cloth fall dead on the stage. "Perfect!"

"Hot damn..." The older Reaper whistled. "How're you doing that? I thought you could only control so much cloth?"

"Normally, yeah, but this is _just_ cloth, unshaped and unformed and I just need to keep it straight. Easy enough. Now hush!" The grin was self-evident in Waltz's voice. "The real fun is just starting."

 **-o-**

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then...

 **FWOOSH!**

A bonfire of tattoo-flames sprung up at the forefront of the stage, just behind Freestyle, who didn't stop singing for a moment.

And when the flames dissipated...

The crowd erupted in cheers as the Composer spread her arms in greeting.

She held an arm out towards the DJs, who dropped a microphone into her open palm.

"HE _LLOOOOOO_ PEOPLE OF BROCKTON BAY!" She called out, waving at Hip and Hop's camera as it flew around her. "AND _HELLO_ MY FELLOW REAPERS!"

The cheers and cries of adulation rang out throughout the Boardwalk, and the city as a whole.

"Now then!" The Composer chuckled merrily. "I hope you've all been enjoying the festivities as much as we have! Now then..." She started to stride around the stage victoriously. "Tonight has been a night whose entire focus has been based on and around freedom. We have had music! We have had fun and games, and all manner of entertainment of which you can possibly conceive! But... there has been one aspect of us Reapers, one crucial keystone that we have _failed_ to properly demonstrate!"

The Composer gestured at the triangular pillar of cloth arrayed behind her. "Our art! And, sadly, in recent times, I myself have been remiss in the introduction of any of my own works, content to allow my Reapers to display their skills! Well!"

She stepped up to the cloth, casting a content smirk at the onlookers as she went. "It is high time that I rectify this horrid misstep, and in a most spectacular fashion befitting of the crescendo for tonight's performance! And so, without further ado!"

She tossed the microphone back to the DJs before turning back to the cloth, smiling at it eagerly.

"Enjoy..." She breathed under her breath before burying her hands in the fabric.

She felt it instantly: Sound, painstakingly woven within and throughout the entirety of the cloth. Blank, untouched and untamed. Awaiting for a wave from the proper conductor's baton to toss them headlong into the throes of energy.

It was like reawakening a sleeping limb. All she had to do was reach out... and...

 _Flex._

The reaction was instantaneous.

Each side of the cloth pillar lit up with a dazzling array of colors. Pattern and design after pattern and design flowed across the cloth like a cascade of water. Colors and shapes and pictures, one after another after another. An unending display of vivid, vibrant fractal and abstract works.

Suddenly, words in unique, stylistic fonts began to display themselves.

 **FREEDOM IS WITHIN US ALL!**

 **YOU JUST NEED TO FIND IT!**

 **REACH OUT AND TAKE IT!**

 **FIGHT FOR IT!**

 ** _REAP IT!_**

The display continued for almost a full minute, the holographic screen showing the masterpiece off to the the city as a whole.

When it finally ended, all there was was silence... and then...

Brockton Bay erupted in cheers, and the party renewed itself tenfold.

 **-o-**

Piggot breathed heavily through her nose as she stood by the Gala's windows, watching as the lights and music spread out from the Boardwalk, the city as a whole waking up and joining in on the festivities.

She didn't even turn to watch as Glenn strode up next to her.

The PR official raised an eyebrow as he watched the streets come to life, idly plucking shrimp out of the cocktail he was carrying.

"I believe..." He stated neutrally. "That this constitutes as checkmate."

SMASH!

"You're acquiring a bad habit for breaking glass with your bare hands, you know that?"


	15. Refrain 1

**Refrain 1**

"So. Kid..."

"I'm not in the mood, Clockblocker."

"Aw c'mon, it's nothing serious! I just wanna know _one_ thing..."

"Clockblocker, I swear to _god-!"_

"How did you and Rune get together? Because I did _Nazi_ that coming!"

SLAP!

"OW! What the hell, Vista!?"

"Oh please, you deserved it!"

The trio of Wards were walking down the street, flanked by several other ex-partygoers. The rave had ground down to a halt a few hours back, and now everyone, Reapers, civilians, heroes and villains alike were returning whence they came.

"Honestly now..." Vista muttered under her breath. "What the hell were you thinking, pledging your support to them like that!? Director Piggot's going to have your head!"

"Psh!" Clockblocker scoffed carelessly. "Piggy shmiggy! The Reapers offered me a fun way out of that snorefest and I took it, sue me!"

"You realize that she's going to have you on monitor duty for as long as you're a Ward, right?" Kid Win sniped.

"...worth it!" He shot a look at the Tinker. "And don't change the subject! You and Rune, eh? So, you switching sides or is she?"

"Neither!" Kid Win defended hastily. "Look, there's one part of that little 'dance' you didn't see, and that was Krieg standing off to the side with a piece of rebar ready to brain me if I made any false moves! I was dancing for my _life_ out there!"

"Yeah, with one of the hottest villains in the city!"

"With one of the _scariest_ holding a gun to my head!"

"Eh, win-lose situation."

"Ergh, I'm surrounded by morons!" Vista ran her hand down her face in exasperation.

"Oh yeah? I don't remember seeing _you_ anywhere nearby! What happen, get held up in an eating contest or something?" Clockblocker needled.

Vista hastily accelerated her pace as her cheeks suddenly lit up. "Er... yes! That's it! Eating contest! Exactly! Wouldn't let me stop stuffing my face, hehehe..."

"Riiiight, sure they wouldn't," Clockblocker's shit-eating grin wa obvious behind his mask. "You know what I think? I think that someone's ly-!"

"Ah leave her alone, Clockblocker," Kid Win groused. "Come on, the night's already over, let's just let bygones be bygones and forget anything ever happened. Heck, I bet that by tomorrow there'll be no trace of anything even happening."

"Make way! Champion, coming through!"

The trio looked behind them and gaped in shock.

Browbeat was marching up the street, a large custom-made champion's belt slung over one shoulder and the beaten, bruised and unconscious forms of Aegis and Triumph on the other. The rookie hero was laughing uproariously as he tromped ahead, joyfully touting his prize.

"Move aside people, make way for the Noisy Boy Rumble Champion!" He cackled. "I am the champion, I am the champion! _These_ are the losers!" He shrugged his shoulder and touted the defeated heroes he was carrying. " _Theeeese_ are the losers, no time for losers 'cause _I_ am the champion, woohoo! Hahaha!"

Clockblocker, Vista and Kid Win stared in disbelief as their fellow Ward tromped by, headed straight for the PRT HQ.

"Then again..." Kid Win muttered in disbelief. "Maybe _not."_

"Hehehe," Clockblocker slapped his comrade on the back. "Kid Win, my friend, they're going to be talking about this night for a _long_ time to come! And if there's one way to describe it, it's _as perfect!"_

 **-o-**

"If there's one way to describe this night, then 'disaster' would be it." Director Piggot snarled to herself as she massaged her throbbing temples.

To say that the PRT Director was furious would be a _vast_ understatement. She had only skimmed the preliminary report that Armsmaster had sent ahead to her, but she understood the gist of it: Instead of doing their jobs, the heroes of Brockton Bay's Wards and Protectorate, the one she'd thought most faithful included, had all chosen to slack off instead of following her orders.

While normally she would have been planning a appropriate restitution for their sheer insubordination, she was currently focused on other matters. Namely, the public's intense reaction.

The long and short of it was easy enough to grasp: Reapers nice and fun, villains and heroes so-so, Shadow Stalker could go hang.

Piggot was at the end of her rope. Everywhere she turned, the same problem kept popping up over and over: Reapers, Reapers, Reapers, always the Reapers. Just how many times could those vandals be allowed to get away with their reckless disregard for the law?! How long could they escape paying for-!

KNOCK KNOCK!

The Director's internal rant was cut off by the sound of someone asking for permission to enter her office.

After a quick and violent battle, seeing the face of whoever had the gall to irritate her now of all times won out over simply shouting at them through the door. "Come in." She ordered darkly.

The door opened, and Piggot was suddenly _very_ glad about her decision.

"Director Piggot." The unmistakable Glenn Chambers greeted cordially.

"PR Director Chambers." Piggot returned tersely. "Let's not mince words, Glenn. This is a clusterfuck, plain and simple. What the hell are we going to do about it?"

Glenn raised an eyebrow at her brash attitude before shrugging and sitting himself down across from her. "Actually, Emily, I think that its safe to say that in this case, the true question is what will _you_ do?"

"I swear Glenn, I am _not_ in the mood! Either get to the point or-!"

"Alright, alright, calm down." He raised his hands defensively. "Yeesh, you're acting like _my_ career isn't on the line as well. Anyways... what I said still stands: you're the Director of the local PRT and Protectorate, so in essence, the outcome of all of this rests on your shoulders and your public reaction."

"And how should I publicly react?"

"You're asking me?"

"As much as it pains me to do so, I think I need to get a professional opinion in this instance."

"Well then, in that case..." Glenn stroked his chin contemplatively. "I can think of three options, but only one really works. The first is that you go on the offensive, lambasting the Reapers. Of course, in this case the public turns against us and we lose all of our respect, so that's a no go. The second is that we capitulate and support the Reapers. However, in this case, we lose all of our respect again, just under different circumstances. As such, we are left with only option three."

"Which would be?"

"Simple: do nothing."

Silence. Then...

 _"WHAT!?"_

Glenn winced as he dug a pinky into his ear. "Alright, _loud!_ Honestly, as if the Reaper's music wasn't enough..."

Piggot ignored his woes, moments from foaming at the mouth as she glared at the PR Director. "Are you out of your mind!? We have an immense situation in front of us and you want me to do absolutely _nothing!?"_

"Well... not _absolutely_ nothing. You're going to have to publicly reprimand Shadow Stalker."

"...the _one_ Ward who, against all odds, did exactly what she was ordered."

"That's the one."

"... You have one minute to explain yourself before I have you removed from this building."

Glenn sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes taking on an analytical gleam. "To put things simply, this battle is already lost. The Reapers have the public's support, so if we try and tear them down we'll be brought down right alongside them, if they even come down at all. As such, your decision to attempt to destroy the party was ill thought-out, and could potentially have lead to us all being buried under a mountain of bad PR. But, we got lucky: You never gave a formal order, you just told the Protectorate what to do, and in the end those orders never truly came to light. As such, _no one_ knows of the faux pas that you made tonight. It. Never. Happened. The only true stain that remains is Shadow Stalker's actions, and those can be explained as her being over-enthusiastic, for which she'll be properly punished. So for now, the best option we have is to sit back, relax, and let this whole thing blow over. So... you still going to throw me out or what?"

Director Piggot was silent for a moment as she processed Glenn's words. "And that's my only option?"

"The only one I can think of that doesn't get you replaced, yes. Director Tagg's been vying for your position here for a good while now, as you might recall."

Piggot hissed in a furious breath. Oh she knew _all_ about Director James 'Total Warfare' Tagg. He was infamous enough already for his actions in keeping the quarantine over Cape Canaveral after the Simurgh struck, and his reputation had only grown after he'd joined the PRT. Piggot also knew that if she allowed Tagg to take command of Brockton Bay's PRT, then everything would go straight to hell. As much as she outright _hated_ parahumans, at least she gave a damn about the normals. Distinctly _unlike_ Tagg. She'd rather lose against the city's villains and leave Brockton Bay standing than win after burning and salting the land.

"I... suppose that you have a point." She grit out darkly. "So, stay quiet on the Reapers, reprimand Shadow Stalker for insubordination, let Clockblocker and Assault off the hook-"

"Actually, here's where I throw you a bone," Glenn stuck a finger up. "So long as you keep their punishments covert, they're fair game."

Piggot blinked in surprise for a moment... before slowly allowing a sadistic grin to grow on her face.

The PR Director hummed quietly as he leaned back in his seat. _'Hmm... let's see... Chinese or Japanese? Meh, I'll compromise with Korean.'_

 **-o-**

Brandish felt her eye twitch at the current state of events.

Getting dragged away from a nice, clean gala was one thing.

Getting dragged to a rave thrown by a bunch of outlaws was another.

But this?

"More tea, Purity?" Lady Photon, AKA Sarah Pelham, AKA Photon Mom, AKA her _sister_ offered kindly.

"Yes please, thank you." Purity, AKA a villain and renowned member of Empire Eighty-Eight responded gently.

This was something else entirely.

"And you, Carol?"

Brandish shot her sister a scathing look, which she apparently took as a sign to refill her cup with a smile.

"So, tell me," Photon Mom smiled eagerly at the supervillain who was sitting in their home. "What were you doing at the party?"

Purity sighed heavily as she took a sip from her cup. "I... didn't want to go at first, to be honest. However, I didn't get much of a choice due to being dragged there by Rune and Othala. Well, me and Fog and Night to be honest. But once I got there... I found I was grateful I could finally have a chance to relax."

"What, you needed a break from being Kaiser's call-bitch?" Brandish muttered vehemently.

"CAROL!" _"God_ yes!"

Lady Photon and Brandish blinked in shock before giving Purity a surprised look.

She looked at them both with numb surprise before shrugging. "What? It's true. A person can only take so much of that pompous jackass's bullshit before needing some alcohol. Ergh..." She kneaded her forehead tiredly. "I should have started drinking a long time ago. First I can't stomach working for the Empire, then I try and fail to be a hero, and now this damn deal..."

"Wait, deal?" Brandish interjected.

Purity nodded morosely. "Kaiser made a deal with me: I come back to the Empire for a year, and he hands it over to me wholesale. Of course there's no way in hell he'll do something so good and honest as that. But I don't have much of a choice now, do I!?" She threw her hands up in frustration. "Either I stick with him and he reneges on our deal after a year of _using_ me, or I refuse, quit, and Aster and I starve. Not like I have any other skills I can use besides blowing things up anyways..."

"...Aster?" Lady Photon asked quietly.

The supervillain contemplated her tea for a moment before answering. "My daughter. Mine and... mine and..." She swallowed heavily. "Kaiser's."

Silence fell over the trio for an extended period of time as they stared into their cups.

Finally, it was Purity who broke the silence. "You... both have daughters. Amy, Victoria, Crystal... I realize that it doesn't excuse what I've done. Plus, I'm prejudiced, I will admit to that. It's why I stopped trying to be a hero. But... but Aster... she is one of the few good things I have left in this world. I might be a villain... but I'm also a mother, and I have to think of her first. If I need to hurt people to do that, then... so be it."

Brandish gave Purity a searching look before swirling her cup a bit. "I... suppose I understand. Victoria is everything to me..." She was silent for a moment before biting back a curse and scrambling to cover her slip. "A-and Panacea as well, o-of course!"

Both of the other women gave her different looks. Sarah's was sad and disapproving, whereas Purity's was... understanding?

"I... also have another child who lives with me..." She stated solemnly. "Theo. He's... not my child. He's Kaiser and another woman's but... he stays with me. He helps take care of Aster and... he might not be mine... but I... I kind of feel like he is. He's... he's part of my family."

The uncomfortable silence returned for less than a minute before Sarah hastily made to change the subject. "Sooo, Purity. Tell me! Where do you get your groceries? Us, we used the CostCo on 30th for a while until _someone_ managed to cave in half of it before we managed to stop her."

Purity choked on her tea incredulously. "Wh-what!? Are you going senile!? You did _not_ stop me, I sent _you_ all crying!"

"With _help!"_ Carol cut in indignantly. "I think that the fact that Fenja and Menja were trying to swat us out of the air might count for _something!"_

"Oh puhlease, like superior numbers have ever mattered to you! Remember that time at Winslow Stadium?"

Both Sarah and Carol groaned simultaneously.

"Dear Lord, don't even _mention_ that debacle in my presence!"

"I haven't looked at a hotdog the same way since..."

And so the conversation wore on deep into the night. The tension was still present, but... it fragmented. Just a bit.

 **-o-**

Should she or shouldn't she? That was the question of the moment.

If she did, who knew what would happen. If her family ever found out, the consequences would be unimaginable.

But if she didn't...

She did it.

For a brief moment of time, the phone rang and doubt clouded her mind. What if she didn't answer? What if she was busy or it was a trap or-?

Someone answered.

 _"Hello?"_

"Um... Tattletale?"

 _"Amy! Following up on our session I see!"_

"Er... yeah. So... look, how is this supposed to work? I mean, you can't tell anyone or-"

 _"Let me stop you before you lose your nerve. First, how about I show some trust and give you my name? I'm Lisa! Hello!"_

Almost instinctively, she brought her shields up. There was some trick here. Some trap, some pitfall, some downside... whatever it was, she refused to let it get to her.

 _"Now then, let's get to the root of the matter by quoting every psychiatrist ever: Tell me about your childhood."_

And just like that, the walls collapsed.

 **-o-**

Aisha held her breath as she slowly slid her room's window shut.

Logically, she knew that Brian wouldn't be back from helping direct the party for another ten minutes thanks to the lead she'd gotten on him by using her wings.

However, Aisha didn't really use logic that often, so what did she care? The _criminal_ part of her mind reminded her that she was out past Brian's curfew, and she knew that if he caught her he would _kill_ her. Ergo, the key here was to be silent.

Finally the window slid into its sill with ease and Aisha allowed herself to let out a sigh of relief.

"Home free. And Brian doesn't even suspect a thing."

The room's lights turned on with a click.

"I don't suspect _what,_ exactly?"

Aisha's forehead hit the windowpane lightly. "Oh damn."

She then realized that her wings had drooped down alongside her shoulders. "Oh _fuck."_

"I think that summarizes things nicely, yeah. I'm suddenly _really_ grateful that I had Bitch give me a ride home."

Aisha slowly turned around to stare morosely at Brian, his expression unreadable and his arms crossed. The stare down continued for a minute until he gestured at her bed silently.

The teenage Reaper slowly turned around, walked over to the bed and sat down.

Brian sat down next to her, hands clasped before him. He was silent for a bit more before speaking. "How long?"

Aisha bit her lip hesitantly. "I... a few weeks. I'm relatively new. I've... stayed out of trouble?"

Her brother gave her a flat look. "That's what you call taunting villains at Somer's Rock?"

She winced accordingly. "I've... _mostly_ stayed out of trouble." She hastily reasserted herself, giving him a venomous glare. "You realize that you being a villain _period_ is worse, right?"

"Don't change the subject." Brian responded neutrally. "Aisha... have you told anyone about...?"

Aisha was silent for a moment before slowly scrunching her eyes shut. "I... yes. The Composer. It was the only way I could convince her to show her just how _badly_ I needed her help. Without her... Bakuda would have _killed_ you. I... I couldn't just let that happen, you know that, right? Right!?" She ended with a hint of desperation.

Brian didn't answer. He merely tapped his fingers together silently. Finally... "A few weeks ago... Taylor's a Reaper, isn't she?"

Aisha's fingers dug into the bedsheets. "I... I can't tell you that. I screwed up once, I won't do it again. If you really care for me... then you won't make me. A-and you won't make me leave the Reapers either!" She looked at Brian fiercely. "They're the best thing that's ever happened to me! Well, next to when you... saved me..." She fell silent for a moment before continuing. "E-either way, I'm not leaving them. It doesn't matter what you say, I won't. I...I won't..." The steam seemed to flow out of her as she looked at him pleadingly.

Brian looked at her morosely before bowing his head again. "So... you've been making a lot of art, huh?"

Aisha blinked in surprise before fiddling her fingers a bit. "Well... y-yeah, I guess. I've been doing it in my spare time. It's... it's fun. Good way of speaking up and getting noticed without getting into too much trouble, you know?"

"And they've been helping you study?"

"Err... yeah, I suppose, the Composer's been on my ass about it... Look, what does this have to do with anything!?"

"Aisha..." Bria started tiredly. "Let me ask you: do you know what's been stopping Child Services from letting me have custody?"

"Umm..." She started ticking her fingers off. "You needed a good place for us to stay, which we've got, a good cash flow, which the Undersiders are getting you... er..." She trailed off hesitantly.

"They needed to know I could raise you right. That I could keep you out of trouble and help you get good grades."

Aisha stared at him in confusion for a moment before her jaw dropped open in realization. Slowly, she looked at him in dawning awe. "Wait... are you saying that..."

Brian looked at her. He had a feeble smile, and tears in his eyes. "They called me just before the party started. I... I've got custody."

Aisha didn't say anything, _couldn't_ say anything. The only thing she could do was slam into her brother and hug him as tight as was physically possible.

Brian returned the hug eagerly, burying his face in her shoulder.

For several minutes, the siblings remained in the position, hugging each other and reveling in their newfound freedom.

Finally, Aisha spoke up. "So... what happens now?"

Brian sighed heavily. "Well... I won't make you leave the Reapers, for a start. They seem to have been a good influence on you. As for me, well... I still need income, so..." He shrugged helplessly. "I suppose that I'll be staying with the Undersiders for a while longer. Until I can find some honest work... or it stops paying so much."

Aisha chuckled happily. "Good, I happen to _like_ Lisa! Personally, I think she's a good influence on you!"

"She's the one who suggests most of our heists."

"As I said."

"Ergh..."

"By the way, how did you figure out that I was a Reaper?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "I could have sworn that I kept my tattoos hidden whenever I was home!"

Brian processed the sentence for a second before slowly looking down at her, "I... actually figured it out when you spoke at Somer's Rock and Lisa confirmed it for me, wait, those are _real!?"_ The last part had a good bit of anger in it.

Aisha paled as she realized her slip-up. "I am _so_ grounded, aren't I?"

"That's a start. Let's work out the rest."

"Aw _man!"_

 **-o-**

Taylor yawned as she walked out of her bathroom, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.

It had been one _hell_ of a night. Managing the party, dealing with Armsmaster... and the finale! Man, _that_ had effectively wiped her out. Still, she had to give credit to Pari- that is, Waltz: infusing cloth with Sound as it was woven was a _brilliant_ idea. While the plan to put Noise into them wound up being a flop, the possible effects had been well displayed tonight: a cloth whose color could be freely manipulated by any Reaper who was worth their salt. The results of the first test had been fantastic, and she couldn't wait to see what else Waltz had in store.

As she was sitting down on her mattress, Taylor heard her room's door open. She smiled as she saw her father in the doorway. "Hey Dad, you have a nice night?"

Danny chuckled happily. "I'm pretty certain that everyone did, actually. I'm going to guess that you were at the party too?"

"Sorry for not calling, but Aisha was with me and-"

"Heh, say no more. You know I actually _knew_ the party was going to happen?"

"Oh really?" Taylor feigned surprise as accurately as she could.

"Yes, really! The Composer and her Reapers came down to the Union and hired a lot of people to help set things up; paid good money, too!" He grimaced as he rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry for not telling you, but she asked that we keep things quiet until the party."

"It's alright dad, I understand," Taylor waved him off easily. "It was still a lot of fun!"

"Yeah, it was. You know, those Reapers are really what the city needs right now. You wouldn't believe how much happier the Union's been recently... Still!" Danny stuck a finger up in a stern and fatherly manner. "Do me a favor and don't join them, alright? I'd rather you not get a record before you're an adult."

"Don't worry, Dad, I won't join the Reapers, I promise." Taylor grinned innocently. _'Technically, founding and joining are two separate activities.'_

"Glad to hear it. Well, good night, Taylor. I love you."

Taylor yawned heavily as she lay down in her bed and pulled her covers up. "Good night, Dad. Love you too."

The lights clicked off, the door slid shut...

And Taylor Hebert smiled as she fell into a peaceful slumber.


	16. Allegro 1

**Allegro 1**

Taylor hummed idly as she scribbled away, adding dots and swirls to her desk. She was currently sitting in World Issues, only half-listening to Gladly and totally ignoring the enraged look on Madison's face as she defaced the... decidedly _less_ than flattering facsimile of herself she'd found waiting for her.

It had been two days since the event that was rapidly becoming known as 'The Party', and things had been surprisingly calm. No big crimes, no raids, things had been nice, quiet and calm.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn back to the teacher as the topic of his discussion caught her attention.

"Well Mark, while those are certainly good examples, the fact is that there's simply no evidence. People have suspected the Yangban of abducting Parahumans on the Eurasian continent for several years now, but no one has ever been capable of confirming anything. Even if it were proven that the Yangban were guilty, there's no actual guarantee that they'd actually let their abductees go. After all, I doubt that any nation would be willing to go to war with a literal army of Parahumans for the sake of a single one. Still though, you bring up a good point. See-"

SLAM!

All noise in the classroom was cut off by the door banging open. Taylor glanced at it, then sat up when she noticed the visibly distressed Aisha standing in the doorway.

"Miss Laborne!" Gladly protested fiercely. "Class is in session, you can't-!"

"Can it, poser-man!" Aisha snapped before shooting Taylor a desperate look. "Taylor! Principle Bi-Blackwell just sent me to get you! She got a call, your aunt in Chicago has a fever, something about red pus."

The pencil in Taylor's hand almost snapped in half from the pressure she exerted on it.

"Aisha!" Gladly was now on his feet and glaring at her angrily. "Listen here, I-!"

"Actually Mr. Gladly," Taylor was on her feet and heading for the door before he could answer. "I know what Aisha is talking about, and it is _very_ serious. I'm sorry, I have to go, family emergency!"

"Taylor, wait-!"

Taylor ignored him, running out alongside Aisha and down the hall before he could stop either of them.

They stopped about a minute later on the second floor of the school. Taylor wheeled on Aisha, looking her firmly in the eyes. "How bad is it?" She demanded firmly.

Aisha held her phone up in response. A text from Chicago with a video included was prominently displayed. One click, and the video played from the start.

 _"-Reporting to you live from the PRT Headquarters, where an inside source has just confirmed that the identities released earlier today are indeed the civilian personas of the standing forces of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and that warrants for their arrest have been put out by none other than Director Costa-Brown herself. This will be a tremendous-!"_

Aisha clicked the phone off, her face set in borderline panic.

The Composer fought to keep her breathing steady, trying to stay calm. Her mind flew through several facts for a moment before her fists scrunched up in fury. She wheeled around and began marching towards the room. "Give me the rundown." She ordered frigidly.

Gangsta nodded hastily as she followed behind her. "Chicago says that the information is legit. It's gone national, it's in-depth and it's thorough. The E88 are totally blown. What's worse, Kaiser's called a meeting of everyone he can gather. A _war_ meeting. Boss..." She sped up to look her friend in the eyes. "Some of their goons suspect Chicago, suspect the _Reapers_. And word is that the rest of the Empire do too."

The Composer growled angrily. "That's what the real culprit most likely wants. We need to diffuse this situation before things go nuclear. Anything else I should know?"

"Uh..." A buzzing drew Gangsta's attention to her phone. She glanced at it... then froze in her tracks. "Purity has a daughter." She breathed in horror.

The Composer whipped around and stared at her in disbelief.

The phone buzzed again and Gangsta's hand whipped to her forehead. "And Child Services just took her, _fuck!"_

A moment of silence, then the Composer turned around and started to run, Gangsta hot on her heels. "Call Chicago, tell him to get as many Reapers together as he can and _get that girl back to her mother!_ Everyone else, high alert and ready to rumble at the drop of a hat. _"_

"And what about us?" Gangsta panted.

The Composer turned up a flight of stairs, running up them two at a time before reaching a door and shouldering her way out unto the roof.

Her hands clamped down on her clothes, and suddenly the fabric _shifted._

Unseen folds moved up and out, covering her arms, leg and face. Colors flowed and shifted, until the Composer was left wearing a muddy brown balaclava and tactical vest over what appeared to be a completely casual set of civilian clothes.

Behid her, Gangsta's clothes underwent a similar shift, decking her out in her usual camo/beanie outfit.

Waltz's work had definitely been a sound investment.

"We're going to stop a war."

And with that, their shoulder blades erupted in static and the pair took off towards downtown as fast as their wings would allow.

 **-o-**

"Shitshitshit _shitSHIT!"_ Brandish cursed as she yanked her costume's gloves on, stumbling a bit as she hopped around and tried to force her feet into her boots. "Damn it all... MARK, HURRY UP!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Her husband called back as he struggled into his padded chestpiece. "What are you so worked up about? Isn't this a good thing? E88 gets taken down, Fleur finally gets justice..."

"I'd accept that if the information release had been covert!" She shouted back in frustration. "With things as public as this, the Empire is going to panic! Cornered rats bite the hardest. God alone knows what they'll do once the PRT starts cracking down. And if Child Services goes so far as to take Purity's _daughter..._ " She shuddered at the mere thought. "No, we need to get out there and help keep the peace as much as we can, _now!"_

Brandish finished yanking her uniform on, darted down the hallway towards her front door, threw it open...

 _"CAROL!"_

And was almost bowled over by the glowing woman who plowed into her on her doorstep.

It took Brandish a minute to realize who the sobbing person clutching at her was. And when she did...

"Purity!?" She gaped in shock.

The Parahuman was a shell of her usual self, sobbing and shaking miserably.

"Please..." She gulped. "You need to help me... they took her... they took Aster, I-I don't know where else to go, please..."

Brandish stared at her stupidly for a second before bringing a hand up to pat her on the back hesitantly. "Uh... there there?"

The light illuminating Purity slowly flickered out as she looked up at her old foe, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Child Services. They... they came and took her... I c-couldn't do anything... I don't know where Aster is, where my _baby_ is... p-please, you're a lawyer, I'll pay you whatever you want, just please... help me get my daughter back..."

Brandish's mind was a mess. Here she was, holding one of her most prominent enemies helpless in her arms. Logic dictated that she should strike now, take her out while she was weak so that she wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again.

Emotion, on the other hand... emotion reminded her of the night they'd spent drinking tea and exchanging war stories.

Emotion reminded her what she would have done if someone had taken Victoria when she was younger. What she would have done if she'd been taken today.

Emotion won.

Slowly, Carol brought her other arm up and gently hugged the hysterical woman. "There there..." She reassured gently. "It's alright. I'll get Aster back, I promise... First, you have to tell me: how did that information get out?"

Suddenly, the light was back and more vicious than ever. "The Reapers..." Purity growled furiously, her misery burned away by pure, unadulterated rage. "One of them, Chicago, is an informant, and a good one at that. He could have easily gotten the information somehow. They ruined my life, _they took my-!"_

FWOOSH!

Her tirade was cut off by a gout of flames next to both her and Brandish that caught their attention.

Brandish blinked in shock before identifying the hooded figure standing there. "A Reaper?!"

Purity focused on the bundle in his arms. _"ASTER!?"_

Before either of them could react, Psycho hastily shoved the baby into her arms, tossed an envelope at Brandish and warped away again in another burst of flames.

Brandish fumbled with the envelope for a second before she tore it open and hastily scanned the contents of the letter within. "'We are not responsible for this, we are so sorry for your pain, consider these actions as a peace offering, please please please don't kill us...' Well, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they didn't do this. You?"

Purity didn't hear her, far too engrossed with clutching her daughter gratefully. "Shh... shh... it's alright, it's alright, you're safe now, baby, you're safe... Mommy's never going to let anyone take you again, you're safe..."

Brandish stared at her silently for a moment before groaning as the situation's full implications hit her, causing her to groan and knead her forehead miserably. "Yeah, you're both safe, but now _I_ have to deal with the political mess this is going to cause..."

 _'How the hell am I going to break it to her that she's going to need to give Aster back until I can get things sorted out_ without _her killing me!?'_

 **-o-**

The air was tense in the Empire's warehouse was tense. Everyone, from the highest of lieutenants to the lowest of thugs and dealers could feel it. The very air was still enough that you could cut it with a knife.

Worst of all... were the capes. Night, Fog, Crusader, Cricket, Stormtiger, Krieg, Rune, Alabaster, Victor, Othala. All of the Empire's standing forces, bar five, were scattered along the border of the crowd. None of them moved, none of them said anything. They didn't need to. Their stances and general demeanors said it all.

They were livid. And they wanted blood.

Suddenly, all attention was drawn to the stage at the front of the warehouse as Kaiser marched up, flanked by Fenja, Menja and Hookwolf.

The leader of the Empire was deathly quiet as he slowly swept his gaze over the assembled forces. Finally, he drew himself up to his full height, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Today," Kaiser started imperiously, his voice resonating throughout the building, "A grave injustice has been inflicted upon us. Today, the lives of myself and my parahuman colleagues have been _stolen_ from us, in their entirety. Us, the vanguards who safeguard our fine nation and way of life, have been unjustly assaulted. Our homes, our livelihoods, our _families_ are now in jeopardy. I will willingly admit..." He bowed his head darkly. "I have my doubts that the Empire will last through the month. If at all. But..." His gauntlets squealed as he clenched his fists darkly. "I swear to you... If we must go? We will not go quietly. No... we will go violently. Very, _very_ violently. In our death throes, we _will_ lash out at those who injured us, and we _will_ do our utmost best to make. Them. Suffer."

Kaiser crossed his arms definitively as he watched the reactions of his followers.

"And I think that we _all_ know who is responsible."

"No you _don't_ Kaiser!"

Little under a hundred heads turned simultaneously to watch as _someone_ flew through the warehouse's doors and above the crowd before alighting on the stage across from Kaiser.

"And I think you know it, too." The Composer stated flatly, crossing her arms and dismissing her wings in a swift burst of static.

Kaiser crossed his arms and slowly turned to face her. "Composer. You've come alone?"

"I don't need any backup." She responded quietly.

"Oh? You think you can fight the entirety of Empire Eighty-Eight simultaneously?" Kaiser took a menacing step towards her, the sound of his boot reverberating throughout the warehouse. "How arrogant of you."

The Reaper shook her head in denial. "No, not arrogant. _Trusting._ Because I _trust_ that we can easily resolve this situation without needing to resort to violence."

Kaiser scoffed exaggeratedly. "No violence? _No violence!?"_

Without rhyme or reason, a wave of blades erupted around the Composer, all halting mere inches from her neck. She didn't flinch, not even as Kaiser marched up to her and towered over her menacingly.

"No. Violence," He repeated in quiet disbelief. "You believe, that after all you and yours have done to us, that the situation can be resolved without violence. Tell me, little girl..."

He leaned forwards, so that they were eye to eye. " _Why_ would I ever let you leave this building alive?"

The Composed craned her neck as far as she could, her neck straining against the blades holding her captive. "Because we. Didn't. Do this."

Kaiser bit out a harsh laugh as he stepped back from her. "So you claim innocence? And what! Pray tell, is your evidence?"

"I don't _need_ evidence, Kaiser," the Composer responded flatly. "All I need is what you lack."

"And that would be?"

"Logic."

SHINK!

Once anew, the Composer refused to flinch, even as Kaiser held a blade he'd summoned from his gauntlet's palm right between her eyes. "Choose your next words _very_ carefully."

The teenage Parahuman tilted her head just enough to look Kaiser in the eye. "If you're going to convict us, then do it properly. You need two things: means and motive. Both of which you would know and have by now if you stopped and actually _thought_ for a second," The look in her eyes softened slightly. "Kaiser. Max. I might not like who you are and I _certainly_ don't like what you do... but I can respect the fact that you're a human being. I can respect that you've lost everything and that it's the reason why you're forgoing due process. But when you come after my people? That's where I draw the line. So try and go about this rationally, will you? For both your sake and for mine."

"You _have_ means, Composer," Kaiser snarled viciously. "That arrogant bastard informant of yours."

"And what about motive, huh?" The Composer tilted her head accusingly. "Kaiser, we hosted a party promoting _peace_ and _freedom_ not _two days ago!_ We fought together to stop a war that was hurting everyone! I'm alright with insulting you, taunting you, even defying you and yours when you step out of line. That, I'm alright with. But outright attacking you like this, destroying you?" She shook her head definitively. "No. Not today, not ever. The Reapers have no motive to harm the Empire."

Kaiser was silent, his head bowed as he thought on the Reaper's words. Finally... He lowered his arm, both the blade in his hand and the ones in the ground slowly receding into oblivion.

"Do you know who the real culprit is?" He asked quietly.

The Composer nodded. "I do."

"How?"

"Process of elimination. Let's start with the heroes: The Protectorate might have enough Thinkers for means, but they prefer the status quo, so they have no motive; they're merely pawns with no choice but to act on the information given to them. New Wave has neither means nor motive, so they're out. And as for the villains? With the Undersiders, Tattletale might be a possibility, but I can't think of any immediate issues they might have with you."

"That dog-fucker, Bitch-!" Hookwolf started darkly.

"Allow me to make myself clear: issues pressing enough to kill over." The Composer cut him off harshly. The two glared at each other firmly until Hookwolf finally relented and backed down.

"Anyways, as I was saying..." She continued. "Faultline might have motive from someone paying her, but she has no means. And the Merchants?" She snorted derogatorily. "I think their reputation speaks for itself. Uber, Leet, Circus Trainwreck, the Travelers... all too small-time and too independent, none with both means and motive."

The Composer crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly. "There's only one real option present, and I think we _both_ know who it is, don't we?"

Kaiser needed only think for a second before his entire body tensed with untold fury. Judging by the curses of anger that sounded out from the crowd, the rest of his faction had come to the exact same conclusion.

The Empire's ruler wheeled around and started to stride away. "I thank you for your aid, Composer," He growled darkly. "We will handle this matter... _personally."_

He was stopped before he could get very far by a hand clamping down on his shoulder. Kaiser slowly turned his head to stare at the Composer in disbelief.

"No," she stated definitively. "you won't."

"If you think that I'm going to let this matter go-!" Kaiser started tersely.

"Oh hell no, I'm with you. That slimy snake's head needs to be crushed, once and for all," The Composer cut him off hastily, "But I want in."

"... elaborate."

"Coil broke the rules. The unwritten rules, that not even _I_ would dare to break. There's only one punishment for that. If you're going to do this... I suggest you do this right. Oh, and don't worry about the details..."

A spark of determination glinted in her eyes.

"I've got them handled."

 **-o-**

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

A moment of silence, followed by the door unlatching and swinging back a bit, allowing Gregor the Snail's pasty green face to peer through the gap.

He contemplated Chicago's form for a moment before grunting in the negative. "We're closed for business. Come back when we're open."

The Case 53 closed the door definitively.

Chicago instantly whipped his phone out and flicked it on in less than a minute. "Shamrock. 19 years old, red hair, six foot three, 160-odd pounds. Can manipulate probability, allows for inhumane luck. She has a stylized tattoo of a sideways U on her shoulder blade, _and she still has her memory!"_

The door swung open, and Gregor stared at Chicago in shock.

"She has _all_ of her memory," The Reaper repeated firmly. "She showed up out of nowhere and started to act autonomously with absolutely no help from anyone. She managed to get back on her feet with ease. She has her memory, I guarantee it. I can tell you where she is. What state, what city, what _address_ , hell, I can get you the name of the salad bar she gets lunch from every. Damn. Tuesday. But you're going to have to earn it."

Gregor was silent before replying. "Name your price."

The Reaper nodded definitively. "Get Faultline and the rest of your crew ready. The Composer has a job for you. We move in ten or less."

Gregor nodded in understanding before turning around and reentering the club.

 **-o-**

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Armsmaster grunted darkly as he marched towards the door to his lab, gesturing for it to open.

"I thought that I told everyone that I wasn't to be dis-!"

He trailed off as he caught sight of the person standing in his doorway.

Grunge tipped his hat respectfully. "The Composer sent me. She says she's calling on the Protectorate to do their duty."

Armsmaster scowled in exasperation. "You tell your Composer two things: first, we do not act according to her will, and second, we couldn't if we wanted to. We're on thin ice for the party with the Director as is. We can't be involved with this."

He turned around and started to walk away. "I'll do you the professional courtesy of _not_ calling security so long as you leave right now." He gestured with his hand, prompting the doors to slide shut...

CRUNCH!

And turned around at the sound of crunching metal, staring as Grunge held the two doors open with his claws.

"I'm afraid I wrongly expressed myself," Grunge grunted. "The Composer wasn't talking about your duty as a hero. She was talking about your duty as a _Parahuman."_

Armsmaster blinked in surprise. He stood silent for a moment before gesturing again, causing the doors to slide back as far as their damaged frames would allow.

"Elaborate." He ordered firmly.

Grunge nodded thankfully, grinning beneath his bandanna.

 **-o-**

It was an average day for the guards patrolling Coil's base. For most of the mercenaries and soldiers, the totality of their job description was to stand guard on the varying corridors and entrances to the supervillain's expansive base. In the eyes of most of the grunts, this was a futile task.

Perhaps the most boring job of all was guarding the thick metal doors that acted as the hideout's front door. After all, the base was totally secure. No one knew its location and so no one who wasn't meant to be there ever came.

At least... until today.

There was no sign, no word of warning, no chance to react.

All anyone knew was that the vault-like doors suddenly buckled inwards before outright exploding, sending chunks of metal and a wave of smoke and dust hurtling into the room.

Though momentarily shellshocked, the mercenaries hastily rallied with professional practice, lining up and pointing their weapons at the gaping breach in their security.

Slowly, second after second ticked by, and the smoke settled down, allowing the mercenaries to reclaim some of their visibility.

As the dust settled, several figures became apparent as they stepped out of the smoke...

"Hello, soldiers."

And the mercenaries all suddenly knew the extent to which they were screwed.

The Composer strode forwards casually, one hand in her pocket, the other tapping her P90 paintball gun against her leg.

"I suspect that you'll all be wanting an explanation for this incursion, won't you? Well honestly, it seems to me..."

Hookwolf snarled furiously as his bladed form trode forwards, each heavy step digging furrows into the cement ground.

"Like that would be rather obvious. But nevertheless, allow me to enlighten you."

A gout of flame flickered out of Spitfire's gasmask, illuminating the soulless lenses menacingly.

"Your boss, Coil? He broke one of the rules. One of the very, _very_ important rules we Parahumans play by."

Miss Militia racked her shotgun threateningly, her eyes filled with bloody murder.

"He exposed the identities of other Parahumans. Now, it doesn't matter _who_ they were, or why, but the end result is always the same."

The nigh-demonic scrap-heap of a monster truck rumbled and roared furiously as its driver revved its engines.

"When that happens, _everyone_ comes after the perpetrator with everything they've got, no holds barred. Be they heroes..."

Glory Girl popped her knuckles as she floated up above, cracking her neck back and forth in savage anticipation.

"Villains..."

Grue was silent as he marched forwards, darkness spilling off of him like an unholy inferno.

"Or even people who are usually neutral." The Composer brought her gun up and clicked its safety off. "Like me."

The Composer turned her head to glare venomously at a nearby security camera.

"Congratulations, Coil."

She hefted the gun and pointed it at the camera lens.

"You fucked up. Now you're going to have to live with it for the rest of your life."

One bang, and the feed went dark.

"However long that might be."


	17. Allegro 2

**Allegro 2**

Coil fought to keep calm as he sat at his desk, ignoring the wailing of the alarms around him, as well as the hails of his lieutenants attempting to inform him of the situation. He was already _well_ aware of the extent of the situation, and he was already taking steps to rectify the issue.

In his own way.

 _~o~_

 _In another life, Thomas Calvert's SUV rumbled down the streets of Brockton Bay's suburban area, making his way towards the I-95 interstate as fast as he lawfully could. As much as his instincts screamed,_ screamed _at him to slam the pedal to the metal, he knew that speeding would only draw undue attention to himself and waste time he simply didn't have._

 _Thomas grit his teeth as he was forced to slow to a stop at the red light of an intersection._ 'Tattletale...' _He thought furiously._ 'I don't know how, but somehow, _somehow_ that little bitch is behind this. The second I'm free and clear, I am going to track her down, and I am going to make her pay. And then... I'll do it again. And again, and again, and again after that.'

 _He scowled and shook his head._ 'Keep calm, Calvert, don't overreact. Alright, just need to get out of the city, fallback to safehouse 12, and see what I can salvage. Also, need to get in contact with the Number Man and get a few vials. I need my Parahumans to be more reliable, seeing how outsourcing has not been all that productive.'

 _Calvert strummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as he waited for the light to change._ 'Come on, come on... I need to get out of here before they-!'

 _His blood froze as a wall of murky haze fell straight down on the road, covering his car in his entirety._

'Oh. Shit.'

 _Before he could react further,_ something _rammed into the side of the SUV. Something very, very big. The world became a blur of motion and pain. All he could hear was the crunch of the asphalt shattering, the groan of the reinforced frame crumpling, the hiss of the airbags as they expanded and slammed into him and the blood flowing through, around and out of his ears._

 _When the car finally came to a halt, it was in such a way that Thomas had to grab at the wheel and anchor his legs beneath the steering column in order to keep from sliding out of the drivers seat and onto the shattered glass of the passenger window waiting below._

 _Before he could attempt to extricate himself from the wreckage, the remains of the driver door were bodily_ ripped _out of their frame, and an armored hand reached through down, grabbed him by the front of his suit and ripped him out of the seat._

 _When the blur of motion ceased, he found himself staring into Dauntless's cold, furious helmet._

 _"Hello, Coil," The hero intoned darkly._

 _Despite the alarm-bells ringing in his head, Calvert hastily composed himself. "C-coil!?" He stammered in what he desperately hoped was a thoroughly accurate reproduction of fear and desperation. "I- th-this has to be a mistake! Please, let me go! I-I'm not even a Parahuman!"_

 _Dauntless jerked him in so that they were inches apart. "Let's check that fact, shall we?" His free hand grabbed Coil's right arm and jerked it out to the side._

 _Calvert followed the motion, and paled in fear when he recognized Panacea standing at his side. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm. A moment later, she let go and nodded definitively._

 _"He has a Gemma," She confirmed with no small amount of venom._

 _Thomas's breathing accelerated as he tried to come up with a response,_ any _response. "I- y-yes, fine, I'm a Parahuman! That's not illegal, I don't have to tell anyone! You don't know I'm Coil, you don't have any proof!"_

 _Dauntless shrugged indifferently."Even if you're not Coil, our intelligence at least links you to his actions in forcibly outing the identities of Parahumans. That's proof enough for me. Now then..."He turned on his heel and hefted Thomas away, throwing him into the middle of the street. "_ She _would like to have a word with you."_

 _Thomas grunted painfully as he rolled to a stop. When he finally got his arms and legs beneath himself, he slowly pushed himself up..._

 _And stared into Cricket's grill-covered mask._

 _A blur of steel flashed towards his head..._

 _~o~_

And Coil jerked back in his seat, gasping desperately. "Well... shit..." He muttered weakly.

Without wasting any time, Coil hastily recentered himself and started to think. "Alright, alright..." He breathed. "I... I need to get out of here... and I need to get my pet as well... alright, let's do both."

Coil stood up and started to walk towards the door to his office.

 _~o~_

 _-tapped a button hidden on the surface of his desk, causing a panel behind his chair to slide open._

 _Coil turned his chair around, stood up..._

 _"Well howdy, ya damn snake!"_

 _BANG!_

 _"GUGH!" The air whuffed out of Coil's lungs as something all but kicked him in the chest, flinging him back into his seat. Stars danced in front of his eyes until he finally gained enough focus to notice the myriad of colors painted across his chest._

 _Cursing in his mind, Coil hastily regained his breath and tried to sluggishly lift his head. "L-look... South, r-right? You're not... you're not a killer, you don't-!"_

 _"Hey puss-sucker! You not recognize me you damn shit-snorting-"_

 _"Oh will you just_ shut the hell up!?" _Coil snarled furiously, the grating voice pumping a tad of energy into his mind._

 _Skidmark scowled as he stepped up to the supervillain. "You still think you're_ better _than me, cunt-licker?! Let's see how long_ that _lasts!"_

 _Coil choked as a_ very _familiar cylinder was rammed into his throat._

 _"Say 'ah', you-!"_

 _~o~_

Coil cursed under his breath and stumbled slightly before hastily accelerating his pace. _'Killed by Skidmark...'_ He shuddered in revulsion. _'The horror.'_

Coming up on an intersection, he made a swift decision.

He turned left-

 _~o~_

 _-right, and increased his pace, now running for his life._

 _The next nearest exit was down the next corridor, maybe if he hurried he could-_

 _Coil's train of thought ground to a halt as he rounded a corner and caught sight of a squad of his men ahead of him._

 _Or rather, what was_ left _of a squad, seeing how the last one standing was only being held up by the hand of a dark man in an army coat._

 _Slowly, Krieg's head turned, and his crimson goggles seemed to flash with recognition. Without fanfare,he released the last trooper's throat, allowing him to drop to the ground._

 _Coil inched his foot back towards the corridor he'd come down..._

 _When he was nearly bowled over by a soldier coming down the exact same corridor. "Sir! Extreme perimeter breach, we need to-!" He cut off when he noticed Krieg. "Get behind me!" He whipped his gun up._

 _Coil only had a second to notice that the soldier, like the others at the end of the corridor, was toting a conventional rifle instead of tinkertech. "Wait, do-!" He was cut of by the bark of the gun letting loose a hail of lead at the intruder._

 _Meanwhile, the whole time that the soldier had been speaking, Krieg had slowly raised his arm up so that it was parallel with the ground, palm pointed at the two of them. Though the bullets crossed the length of the hall in less than a second, the instant they came even remotely close to Krieg... they halted, full stop._

 _The soldier blinked numbly as the pieces of metal hung in the air. "W-what the-?"_

 _Coil groaned and kneaded the bridge of his nose through his mask. "He's a kinetic manipulator, you_ idiot."

 _Krieg slowly cracked his neck back and forth ominously._

 _Coil scrunched his eyes shut. "This one's going to hurt."_

 _Krieg waved his hand down, the bullets continued to move in the opposite direction almost twice as fast and-_

 _~o~_

Coil stumbled _again_ , almost bouncing off of the wall before he found it within himself to keep moving.

He didn't even spare a second to think. Instead, he merely rammed his fist into a specific section of the wall-

 _~o~_

 _Broke into a sprint, abandoning all pretenses of caution as be bolted down the base's hallway._

 _He was at the door to his pet's room in less than a minute. A quick press of a hidden section of the doorframe and-_

 _CRUNCH!_

 _Coil gurgled painfully as his back hit the door, blood fountaining from his shattered jaw and nose._

 _His hand scrabbled momentarily to find purchase before getting_ crushed _under a large boot, causing him to let out another choked gasp of pain._

 _"You know..." Manpower growled as he knelt over Coil's prone form. "At first, I was a little hesitant about the fury with which we attacked you. I didn't really want to kill anyone. Hell, I was planning on just capturing you and dragging you to the PRT. But after seeing this..."_

 _He was silent as Lady Photon flew out of the room he'd left and made her way down the corridor they'd come from, clutching a girl to her chest the whole way._

 _Manpower scowled before grinding his boot into Coil's hand. "Oh, my doubts are_ long _gone. But..." He stood up and stepped back. "I won't do it. You know why?"_

 _Coil tried to draw in a gasp of breath, but was cut off by a large hand encircling his throat and lifting him up the wall by his neck alone. Through the pain, Coil was able to make out a lion mask that was_ far _more angry looking than it normally was._

 _"Because anything he does to you will be far worse than anything I could come up with."_

 _Triumph crunched Coil into the wall as he leaned in so that they were face to face._

 _"You. Kidnapped. My cousin." He growled under his breath._ "Suffer."

 _Triumph took in a deep breath-_

 _~o~_

Coil let out a grunt of breath as he fell to his knees, instinctively whipping a hand to his jaw.

Coil spared a few precious moments to regain his breath-

 _~o~_

 _-powered through the pain, staggering to his feet before stumbling down the cramped passage's confines. He tripped and accidentally crossed his feet a few times before finally managing to get his feet beneath him and actually start to run._

 _He only got about two dozen feet..._

 ** _FWOOSH!_**

 _Before the sound of flames in front of him forced him to a halt._

 _Psycho leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Eight orange tails flicked and flickered behind him furiously._

 _Coil worked his jaw beneath his mask furiously. "Oh you have_ got _to be-!"_

 _And everything became **FIRE.**_

 _~o~_

Coil's head snapped up as the sound of a raging inferno roared down the corridor.

Acting fast, Coil threw himself to the side and into another hidden passageway, ramming his shoulder into a button just behind the doorframe and triggering the failsafe, causing a six-inch thick barricade to clamp down _just_ as the heat of the fire licked at his back.

He didn't take a moment to wait. He slammed his palm into the floor, popping open a hidden hatch and lowering himself into the stone tunnel-

 _~o~_

 _-crawled to his feet and staggered down the hall, dragging one foot in front of the other._

 _He didn't even make it a minute, and he didn't flinch when the blade shot out of the wall and pierced his diaphragm, angling itself to miss his lungs entirely._

 _"Coil, let me be totally and utterly honest with you..." Kaiser drawled as he tapped a blade in his hand. "I am going to_ thoroughly _enjoy this."_

 _Coil gasped in a desperate breath of air-_

 _~o~_

Coil coughed and grunted furiously as he dug his hand into the wall, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.

He took a second to recover his breath before stepping forwards again-

 _~o~_

 _-And stopping dead in his tracks as the sound of a gun's hammer clicking back rang in his ears._

 _Coil slowly raised his head-_

 _~o~_

-and stared at the person pointing a gun at his head in disbelief.

He didn't see the gun. He didn't see what the person looked like, or even their gender. He only saw one thing.

 _~o~_

 _That grin._

 _That_ fucking _grin._

 _"You... fucking... bi-!"_

 _~o~_

"Surely we can come to some kind of agreement, right Tattletale?" He swallowed nervously.

The grin grew several molars wider. "You have absolutely _no_ idea-!"

 _~o~_

 _"-how long I've waited for this day!" She cackled, revelling in the fury he was expressing._

 _"You will_ not _get away with this!" Coil ranted, spittle coating the inside of his mask. "Do you hear me, you bitch!? You can't do this to me! I own you! I_ OW-!"

 _~o~_

"-onsider you to be a _very_ valuable part of my operations!" Coil raised his hands in defense as he slowly backed away. "P-please, we're both logical people! Maybe we can come to some kind of agreement or-or-or-!"

"Oh Coil..." Tattletale crooned sickeningly.

"You know there's only one thing that I want, that I've wanted ever since I first met you..."

 _~o~_

 _"Your head," She shook with ill-suppressed glee. "On a silver. Platter."_

 _"You don't even realize what you've done, do you?" Coil seethed. "I have connections! I have_ allies! _They will come for you, and they will burn you, and the Undersiders, and this whole fucking city, TO THE GROUND!"_

 _Tattletale considered this for a moment before shrugging carelessly. "Meh, we can take 'em. Now then..." Her grin was inches from splitting her face. "Get on your knees. And_ beg."

 _"I will_ never _beg, do you hear me? NE-!"_

 _~o~_

"-lease, Tattletale! Look inside yourself! You're not a killer. You _know_ that you aren't!" Coil pleaded desperately.

"Correction, Calvert..." She pressed her gun against his temple. "I _wasn't_ a killer. Congratulations. You made me one. Goodbye, Coil. For what it's worth?"

 _~o~_

 _"I hope you burn in hell."_

 _Coil lunged at her, roaring in inhuman fury as he-_

 _~o~_

-grit his teeth and awaited his fate.

 _~o~_

 _Tattletale pulled the trigger._

 _~o~_

An earsplitting bang rang out through the tunnel.

 _~o~_

And _Thomas_ Calvert _died._

 **-o-**

Tattletale breathed heavily as she took in the villain's corpse.

For the longest time, she just stood there, her powers still catching up to events.

And finally... "Ha... ha ha..." she started to laugh.

"Hahaha...hahahaHAHAHA _HAHA!"_ She laughed and laughed and laughed, her body shaking violently with hysterical mirth. She even collapsed against the wall, pounding at the wall furiously.

"I'M FREE! HAHAHA! I'M FUCKING FREE! SUCK IT YOU DAMN BASTARD, BECAUSE I! AM! _FREE! WHOO!"_

She carried on like this for about a minute before finally starting to calm down and come off her high, wheezing out her laughter in short, final gasps.

At last, her laughter finally died down and she started to compose herself.

"Alright... alright..." she breathed to herself. "Now... gotta work fast... need to secure his assets, keep his contacts from realizing that he's dead so that I can milk them for all they're worth, renegotiate with those who figure it out... geeze, I _seriously_ need to negotiate with his backers, yeesh. Alright, alright..."

She turned her eyes heavenwards as she ran her hand through her hair.

"Am I forgetting anything?"

 **-o-**

"Are you two sure that this is a good idea?"

"Positive!" "After all, what else would a supervillain keep in a vault in their top-secret base?"

"Come on, Battery! This job is off the books, what's so wrong with skimming a little extra cash?"

"I _really_ don't know about this..."

"Tough cookies! We're getting in, one way or another!" "Speaking of, how's it going, Victor?"

"Almost there, just need a bit more... rgh, damn it. Othala, hit me with the hypersensitivity again, would you?"

"Victor, I'm not sure-"

"I seem to recall _something_ about you wanting a... what was it, Dance Dance Revolution Extreme machine? How'd you like that and the expansion pack?"

"... make it fast."

"Gladly! Now, just... a bit..."

CLANK!

"Jackpot!"

"Pay day has come early!" THWAP! "OW! _Puppy!"_

"Oh yeah!" "Come to papa!"

Creeeeeak...

"...what the shit?"

"...h-hello? W-who are you? What... are you doing here? How did you open the door?!"

"Uhh..."

"What's going on? Why can I hear fighting? What happened to the Travellers!? _Where is Krouse!?"_

"Dearest brother." "Yes, dearest sister?" "We're utterly screwed, aren't we?" "Oh, most definitely."

 _"GROOOAAAAAARRR!"_

 _"DAMN IT, ASSAULT!"_

 **-o-**

 _"GROOOAAAAAARRR!"_

Tattletale paled as the earth shook beneath her feet. "Ohhh... riiiight... forgot about that." She flipped out her cellphone, taking a second to thank her stars for opting for the tinkertech upgrade before dialing a number and pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Composer? Yeah, don't be mad, but I _might_ have forgotten to tell you something... no no, don't worry, it's a minor issue."

 ** _"GROOOAAAAAARRR!"_**

"On second thought, make that a major situation! Get everyone to the main entrance! _HURRY!"_


	18. Allegro 3

**Allegro 3**

"Lady Photon, Glory Girl, Manpower, Flashbang, Brandish. New Wave is accounted for, Boss!" Chicago shouted over his shoulder as he frantically worked on his tablet.

"Great, keep going!" The Composer called out as she frantically paced along the atrium.

She and a majority of the Parahumans who had participated in the raid were in the base's main entrance area, waiting for the arrival of their comrades. The mood was extremely tense due to the cavernous chamber occasionally shaking violently, inhuman roars echoing throughout the halls.

"We should get out of here _now_ , Boss!" Grunge demanded, nervously glancing at the various entrances and exits to the room.

"No!" She snapped, shooting a venomous glare at him. "We started this together, we end it that way too. _No one_ leaves until we are _all_ here. That's _final!"_

FWOOSH!

Attention was drawn to the burst of tattoo-fire that arose as Psycho warped back into the room, bringing a disoriented Rune, Regent and Newter with him. Once they stumbled away from him, he warped away once more.

Chicago mumbled under his breath as he swiped across his tablet before speaking up. "All of Faultline's crew are present, Undersiders and E88 are missing Tattletale, Kaiser, Victor and Othala respectively! Protectorate's still missing Assault and Battery, Merchants Skidmark, and I haven't seen South, Hip or Hop!"

"Better change the count, son!" South proclaimed as he and Skidmark ran into the room from one of the side-passages. He stopped next to Grunge and the Composer, doubled over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Me and... the shitstain... took the back corridors... I dunno what that thing is, but it's huge... Good to see you guys got out alright."

"Yeah, you too," Grunge grunted noncommittally. "Now, would you mind helping me convince the Boss that we need to evacuate?"

"Grunge, stop being a wet blanket!" The Composer burst out in an authoritative tone. "South, reassure Grunge!"

The cowboy chuckled as he patted his equally sized friend on the back. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be fine."

Grunge scowled at his friend from beneath his mask. "I am _not_ reassured."

"Chicago, doublecheck your numbers, I don't want to leave anyone behind on accident!"

Chicago flashed her a thumbs up as mulled over his tablet.

"Gangsta, more primary colors, less tertiary!"

"You got it, boss!" The teenage Reaper confirmed as she continued to tag the wall of the atrium.

"Is that _really_ a priority right now, Composer?!" Armsmaster demanded.

In an instant, the Composer was face to helmet with the hero, hovering above him with tattoo wings. "This entire thing has just turned into a fiasco with _my_ name on it! If anyone gets hurt, it'll be on _my_ head, so forgive me for panicking, and _forgive me for trying to find a way to cope!"_

"Don't worry Boss, most everyone's here!" Chicago piped up. "All New Wave, Faultline Mercs, Merchants... Travellers are all accounted for too, for that matter!"

The Composer spared a glance at Squealer's armored demon-truck. More specifically, the humanoid mass of wires, cables and garbage that was sitting in its bed. Trapped in Mush's mass were all four of the Travelers, plus a fifth.

Despite initial misgivings over Tattletale's revelation of the Undersiders' backer, her information had been invaluable, _especially_ the Traveler's presence in the base. The coalition of Parahumans had successfully blitzed the renegade Parahumans in their quarters before they'd truly been able to get moving. Trickster had presented a bit of a problem at first, what with him wreaking havoc on the team sent to capture them by swapping everyone around, but in the end Psychedelic had managed to incapacitate him before he could react.

The Composer used multiple Jellies as a means of restraining the Travelers' heads and hands, thus blocking any usage of their powers before imprisoning them in Mush's body.

"Anyways..." Chicago tapped on his tablet hastily. "We're still missing Hip, Hop, Assault, Battery, Victor, Othala and-!"

FWOOSH!

"That's it!"

"Composer!" Kaiser growled furiously as he marched towards her. "What the _hell_ is going on!?"

"Oh, I _intend_ to find out!" The chief Reaper snarled as she stormed past him and used her wings to tower over a _very_ nervous Tattletale. "Explain." She growled. " _Now."_

Tattletale chuckled anxiously. "Um... well... I _might_ have forgotten to mention something."

 _"WHAT!?"_ Over a dozen Parahumans roared simultaneously.

Tattletale glanced away as she poked her fingers together. "Er... the Travelers have a _sixth_ member?"

The Composer's eye twitched furiously beneath her mask. "Skidmark..."

"Way ahead of you, bitch! HEY! CUNTSNIFFER! GET DOWN HERE, _NOW!"_

With a heavy thump, Mush rolled his mass off the truck and towards the group.

Once the mobile junkyard stopped, the Composer ripped the Jelly off of Ballistic's head. "Sixth member. Talk." She demanded.

"Ga-LUKE!" Trickster snarled as he jerked around enough to dislodge the Noise from his mouth. "Don't even consider it, Luke! Don't you-MMPH!" He was cut off by the Composer ramming the Jelly she was holding into his mouth.

 _"Now."_ The Composer growled furiously.

Ballistic nervously glanced at his team's leader before sighing dejectedly and hanging his head. "You know what? Fuck it. Marissa, Jess, Oliver, I'm sorry. Krouse? Fuck you. Our sixth is Noelle, Noelle Meinhardt. She doesn't have a cape name. She... she can't even go out in public."

"She triggered into a Case 53?" Faultline pressed hastily.

"Never heard of anyone triggering into a 53," Chicago mused. "I mean, the most people usually do is wind up an ugly-ass bastard like Alabaster. Some offence." He directed at the white-skinned man.

The neo-nazi shrugged indifferently. "I've heard worse."

"She... she didn't Trigger..." Ballistic admitted. "None of us did. We... we drank some stuff from vials in a briefcase and... we had powers."

"These vials and case..." Gregor the Snail cut in before anyone else could say anything. "Did they have a mark..." He turned to the side and pointed at an omega-like symbol on his upper arm. "Like this?"

Ballistic stared at it numbly for a second before shaking his head. "I... I dunno, man. This was over a year ago, I can't even tell you what their damn colors were..."

The Composer snapped her fingers in front of him impatiently. "Focus. You all got your powers fine, she's screwed up somehow, _why?"_

Ballistic shrugged helplessly. "I-I think she only drank half of it, it screwed her up somehow."

"Screwed her up _how_ exactly?"

The Traveller made to respond-

"BOSS!" "KAISER!" "ARMSMASTER!"

-when several shouts from down the largest and longest corridor drew everyone's attention.

It was the missing Parahumans and Reapers: Hip and Hop were speeding through the air on ragged wings, with Victor, Othala, Assault and Battery keeping close pace with them. Victor was carrying Othala in his arms and running superhumanly fast, whereas Assault had Battery slung over his shoulder as he ran down the corridor, traversing it with huge leaps.

They were at the gathering in less than a minute.

"Boss!" "We're so so sorry!" Hip and Hop apologized as they hovered over their boss.

"What happened? What did you do?" Armsmaster demanded.

"It's not their fault, Armsy," Assault groaned as he let a rather furious Battery slide off of him. "We all got greedy when we saw the vault. We expected gold, cash, riches! Not... ergh!"

"What do you think this is, a Saturday morning cartoon show!?" Kaiser scoffed.

"Boss, no offense? But kinda! I mean, seriously!" Victor spread his arms wide. "Have you _seen_ this place!?"

"Listen!" Ballistic spoke up, his voice panicked. "If Noelle is free and on a rampage, then we all need to get out of here, _right now!"_

"Psh!" Glory Girl snorted incredulously. "Come on! So it's loud! How bad can it be?"

Silence fell over the room as all the Parahumans and Reapers present slowly turned to stare at her.

"Did that bimbo really just...?" Gangsta trailed off incredulously.

Brandish groaned as she slapped her hand to her face. "She did. She really, really did."

Tattletale scrunched her eyes shut as she walked over to the nearest wall and rammed her head against it. "You. Stupid. Bitch."

Victoria looked around in confusion. "What? What's wrong? I mean, come on! Seriously, I know there are bad things out there, but this literally _cannot-!"_

 ** _"GROOOAAAAR!"_**

She was cut off by an ear-shattering roar erupting down the corridor the missing people had come down.

And from around the corner... came hell.

It was like a sick, twisted mockery of a centaur. From the waist up, the... creature, seemed to be an average, ordinary teenage girl. From the waist down, things became... monstrous. The mass of flesh was huge, almost the size of a semi truck with a sleeper attachment. Protruding from the front of the mass were two monstrous, animal heads with a third in the process of growing out. Two claw-hoof hybrids bordered the heads, supporting the mass. Protruding from the rear-left part of the mass was a huge, grotesque hand, whereas an _unbelievably_ huge amount of varying tentacles hung out of the rear-right end, coiling and grasping madly.

"Shutting up now." Glory Girl squeaked in terror.

The teenage-half blinked numbly as she took in the scene before her. "Wh-who are you? What are... you..." She trailed off as she caught sight of the Travelers. "K-Krouse!?"

The Composer shot Ballistic a suffering look. "Dare I ask?"

The Traveler grunted and jerked his head at Trickster. " _Her_ boyfriend and only tie to sanity."

" _Perfect."_

"Let them go..." Noelle breathed quietly. Her chest heaved as she started to hyperventilate. "Let them go. Let them go let them go let them go _letthemgoletthemgoLETTHEMGO **LETTHEMGROAAAAAAR!"**_ Her rant evolved into a roar as she started to stampede down the hall.

"Someone do something to stop her before she _eats us all alive!"_ Ballistic shouted in panic.

Noelle was about a quarter of the way down the hall...

SHINK!

 ** _"GRREEAAAHH!"_**

When a small forest of metal spikes erupted from the floor, walls and even ceiling, impaling her mass and pinning her in place.

The Parahumans stared at Kaiser in awe.

The leader of Empire 88 shrugged indifferently at their looks. "What? I've been to Endbringer fights. It's not so different from attempting to impede Behemoth. Though admittedly, this is turning out far better."

CRASH!

Attention returned to the corridor as Noelle tore the spikes out of the wall, regenerating almost instantly and starting to lumber forwards anew.

Acting fast, Kaiser raised his arms again, causing a whole new set of spikes to emerge, this time at as constant a pace as Noelle tore them out.

The action managed to snap the Composer out of her shock and into action. _"BACK HIM UP!"_ She bellowed. "Anyone who can blast, lay into her, no remorse! _I want her lit up like an Endbringer!"_

"And whatever you do!" Hip interjected.

"For the love of God, _don't_ get close enough for her to grab you with one of her damn tentacles!" Hop ordered.

"Or else what?!" Chicago asked, dreading the answer.

The response was given when Noelle halted in place, ignoring the spikes tearing into her. She shook and shuddered, and then... she vomited. Or, to be more specific, the beast heads vomited, heaving out gallons of bile and viscera. The smell and sight of the stuff alone was horrifying.

What erupted from it was worse.

A quartet of multi-hued blurs shot down the corridors, bolting towards the assembled Parahumans at an inhuman speed. They got within a dozen feet of the crowd...

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

When four shots rang out, forcing the things to a halt and leaving them to collapse on the ground.

Victor panted desperately as he lowered his pistol. "Those damn things have been chasing us the entire damn time..."

Grunge gagged as he took in the creatures. "Oh that is _just_ not right..."

The things were _once_ Death Thrash Minks. Their sizes and details varied immensely, but the basic theme was the same: half pseudo-flesh, half mutated, twisted and _disgusting_ tattoo.

"Why aren't they dissipating into static?" Gangsta asked quietly.

"Because they're not the originals," Ballistic moaned. "Considering how small they are, at a guess I'd say they're still inside her. _Those_ are clones. Want to see what she does to a Parahuman, powers included?"

Horrified silence fell over the gathered people for a moment before Noelle's roaring snapped them back to reality.

"Miss Militia! Dauntless! Triumph!" Armsmaster ordered firmly.

"Purity! Rune! Krieg! Stormtiger!" Kaiser grunted.

"Mark!" Lady Photon shouted as she flew up.

"LOCK AND LOAD, BITCH!" Skidmark snarled as he climbed into the demon-truck's cab.

"Regent, try and trip her up!" Grue shoved his teammate forwards.

"Spitfire, Gregor, take point! Labyrinth..." She held her teammate's shoulders firmly. "You're going to need to concentrate..."

"Hip? Hop?" The Composer asked desperately.

"Corehog quills seem to work!" "Good range and boom!"

"Alright, in that case, you two, South and Gangsta, blast her with quills. Grunge, lay into her."

The resulting barrage was... awe-inspiring. Miss Militia conjured up a massive minigun on a tripod before her, with which she unloaded a barrage of bullets, Dauntless fired bolt after bolt of lightning, and the reverberating bass of Triumph's sonic assault was ever-present. Purity, Lady Photon and Flashbang unleashed wave after wave of light and energy down the hall. Stormtiger launched waves and blasts of air whereas Rune ripped up chunks of the wall and floor with her telekinesis, either passing them to Krieg to be launched or flinging them herself. Hidden compartments in Squealer's truck opened up and unleashed a hail of bullets and explosives, while Skidmark layered the floor up to the monster with countless fields to push her back. This impairment of movement was aided by Regent forcing her legs to go wild without warning. Spitfire's flames, aided by Gregor's chemicals, lit up the hallway. As for the Reapers, Hip, Hop, Gangsta and South all drew out separate cans and sprayed their arms, causing them to erupt in masses of spikes, which they then pointed at Noelle. The spikes launched off of them like rockets, and exploded like them too. Grunge fired round after round of paint-grenades at down the corridor, pausing only to slam in new cans.

The greatest Parahuman-powered artillery strike in Brockton Bay history... and it was all for naught.

Noelle was visibly slowed down by the assault, yes, but not permanently injured. She continued her advance, slowly, inexorably. She wasn't stopping any time soon. If anything... things were only getting started.

The Composer worked her jaw in shock before scowling and rounding on Tattletale in righteous fury. "You forgot to mention _THAT!?"_

Tattletale stepped back and put her hands up defensively. "Hey, I was focused on being out from under the thumb of the man who's threatened and coerced me for almost a year! Forgive me for getting some tunnel vision!"

Armsmaster scowled and kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Why was Coil keeping her anyways!?"

The high-level Thinker shrugged helplessly. "She was his collateral to keep the Travelers in check! He had me looking for a way to cure her!"

"Really? Great!" Amy exclaimed in relief. "What's the cure?"

Tattletale snorted out a derisive laugh as she gesticulated at the monstrosity slowly marching down the corridor. "Does it _look_ like there's a cure!?"

" _What!?"_ Ballistic burst out incredulously. "You said you were making progress!"

 _"I EXAGGERATED!"_ Tattletale roared in exasperation, flinging her arms out. "I DO THAT SOMETIMES! _DEAL WITH IT!"_

 **"YOU _WHAT!?"_**

The blood drained from her face as Noelle's monstrous voice roared out. "Oh shit..."

Noelle was shaking in blind fury. **"You... _You_... _YOU... I'LL KILL YOU!"_**

And with that, the behemoth's speed all but doubled, in spite of the ongoing assault.

Chicago whistled appreciatively. "Damn, today is _not_ your day, is it?"

The Composer pointedly ignored a livid Tattletale trying to choke the life out of her comrade as she marched forwards. "Enough of this shit! I'm ending this _now!"_

Before anyone could react, the Composer reared back, lifting her foot high into the air and slamming it down on the metal. Extending forwards out from her foot erupted a trio of massive tattoos with draconic designs. The tattoos flashed simultaneously before a trio of static fountains erupted from the designs, rising high into the air.

When the static stopped moving, they coalesced into a trio of... well, the best description was dragons. The had midnight blue bodies with ridges running up their spines and fleshy wings extending out from their sides. Burnt orange markings ran the length of their bodies, and their heads and horned, dinosaur-like skulls and legs were composed of the tattoos.

"Say hello to the Goth Metal Drakes..." The Composer huffed.

The Drakes roared and growled as they stalked forwards, their attention fully focused on their target. Suddenly, as one, they reared their heads back and whipped them forwards once more, opening their jaws and unleashing an onslaught of dark red and black tattoo flames that utterly _filled_ the corridor. Everything, the walls, the ceiling and the floor, was on fire.

The attacking Parahumans ceased their assault as they stared in awe at the inferno raging before them.

"Wow..." Gangsta breathed as she dropped to the ground, dismissing her wings and quills. "Man, I realize that this is tempting fate here, but seriously? There is no way in hell that _anything_ could have survived that. I mean... just... holy _shit..."_

Silence reigned over the room, apart from the crackling of the flames...

 ** _"GROOOAAARR!"_**

And the pure, unadulterated rage of Noelle Meinhardt.

Before anyone could react, a mass of tentacles shot out of the inferno, latching themselves around the limbs, necks and bodies of the Drakes and dragging them off of their feet and into the fire.

For a moment, roaring, snarling and thrashing was all that could be heard. Then...

Noelle slowly stomped out of the dying flames. Poking out of the top half of her lower body were the Drake's heads. As one, they opened their jaws, leaned back and blasted their flames into the air.

The Composer slowly opened and closed her mouth wordlessly before her face went neutral. Without fanfare, she turned around and clapped her hands together. "Well!" She proclaimed. "That's not my best, but my best wouldn't do jack anyways. Anybody else have any bright ideas?"

Snapping out of her shock, Faultline placed her hands on Labyrinth's shoulders. "Alright, Labyrinth? I'm _so_ sorry about this, but we have no other choice. Are you ready?"

The girl swallowed heavily, but then smiled nervously and nodded.

"Alright... Newter?" She nodded solemnly at the lizard-man. "Do it."

Newter nodded right back, stepping up behind her and placing his hands on her cheeks.

In response, Labyrinth's body went slack. The shift in environment was nigh instant: the walls of the corridor's smooth metal melted into padded walls lined with barbed wire and broken glass, stains of blood and fecal matter everywhere.

Before Noelle could react, Labyrinth twitched slightly. Starting right in front of the monster, one after one another after another, massive, _massive_ infernal doors, walls in and of themselves, composed of rusty, bloody metal rumbled out of the walls, ceilings and roof, sliding and slamming shut over the corridor. Almost a dozen of them closed off the corridor, before the final one sealed itself over the passage's opening.

"Holy fucking mother of bitches..." Skidmark breathed.

South whistled lowly as he nudged the brim of his hat up with his shotgun. "That shit just ain't right..." He muttered.

"Tell it to the good doctors of St. Jude's Asylum for the Mentally Incapacitated," Faultline growled as she hugged Labyrinth and slowly rubbed her back.

Chicago choked in horror. "St. Judes!? As in the the same St. Judes that Burnscar allegedly broke out of!?"

"Allegedly nothing, she nearly torched me when we broke Labyrinth out!" Neuter complained.

Chicago's mouth flapped open and shut for a moment before he snapped his teeth together and brought up his tablet. "Pardon me, I need to go and... _observe_ some specific bank accounts. By the way, Boss? We're loaded. _Totally_ unrelated, of course."

"Oooof course," Battery drawled.

"Name a charity. It'll be several zeroes richer by the end of the day."

"I'll help!" Tattletale volunteered, moving to look over his shoulder.

"Actually!" Faultline interrupted, breaking away from Labyrinth and grabbing the Thinker's wrist. "You need to do something else," She breathed heavily through her nose, visibly bracing herself for what she was about to say. "We need you to come up with a plan."

Silence reigned over the room for a moment until several reactions occurred.

"Are you fucking _nuts!?"_ Gangsta shrieked, her reaction mirrored by no less than a dozen others.

"I am going to _love_ hearing this," Brandish muttered.

"Pay up, you two!" Newter cackled, holding his hands out to Gregor and Spitfire as they muttered darkly and dug through their pockets before forking over a few bills each.

"Well, we're fucked." Regent stated calmly, barely even flinching as Grue slapped the back of his head.

 ** _"GREAAAAH!"_**

The assembled Parahumans were jolted back into focus by Noelle's screeching piercing through the metal barriers, a shriek of metal informing them that one of the doors had been torn down, frantic scratching heralding the destruction of another.

"Alright, enough! We don't have time for this!" Faultline snapped.

"Yeah, no shit!" Hookwolf growled. "Do you even remember how that bitch's last plan worked out!?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," The mercenary deadpanned as she crossed her arms. "Coil is dead and his operations are finished. As far as I can tell, Tattletale's last plan was a success."

Another screech of metal rang out, followed by a roar.

"You call _that_ a success!?" Ballistic laughed in disbelief.

" _That_ was an outside factor. The initial plan went off without a hitch, this is just a byproduct." Faultline sighed wearily and ran her hand over her mask. "As much as it kills me to say it, we need her to come up with a plan."

Tattletale stared at Faultline numbly for a second before speaking. "What... are you saying exactly?"

Faultline ground her teeth as she clenched her fists before sighing miserably. "I... need you... to come up with a plan... to save us... happy?"

Tattletale's face was set in an expression of numb shock for a moment...

Before slowly morphing into a vulpine grin.

"She's back," Glory Girl groaned apprehensively.

A slight choking sound came from behind Psycho's mask as he drew his finger across his throat.

"Quiet!" Tattletale barked, the grin never leaving her face. "I need a moment to think!"

She began to pace back and forth, her fingers spasming and gesticulating as she muttered madly under her breath. "Yes, yes, no, yes, maybe? No, too costly, how about-? No, that would take too long, but if... yes, yes! But where would we get the cornstarch and water? Hmm... tempting... Armsmaster!" She snapped her head around and jabbed a finger at the hero. "How many Wards are you willing to-?"

"No." He deadpanned.

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"...not even Shadow-?"

" _No."_

"Damn!" She scowled before flipping back to her smile. "No matter! Now... hmm... rate of regeneration... time of arrival... favorite flavor of pie... mmm, pie..." She started to drool slightly. "Man, I could really go for something to ea-!"

 _"TATTLETALE!"_ Grue barked in exasperation.

"DONE!" She roared. Tattletale whipped a hand up and jabbed a finger at Chicago. "You! Tablet! Now!"

"What!?" The informant yelped as he clutched the device to his chest. "Hell no!"

"Chicago, just give her the tablet." The Composer groaned in exasperation.

"Boss! Do you know what he could do if she got ahold of the information on this thing!?" He protested. "She-she could topple a small country! Devastate the economy! _She could steal my contacts!"_

"Sooo glad you have your priorities straight," Victor drawled.

"Oooh, now that's interesting!" Tattletale grinned eagerly. "Maybe later! For now? I need to talk to the DJs face to face! _Give!"_

Chicago grimaced momentarily before handing the device to her. "Just... just talk to them, alright? The password is-"

"Really, really cute, I know!" Tattletale grinned as she tapped on the tablet. "Now then... dadada! Here we go! Hello DJ Synth, DJ Chiptune!" She waved at the Reapers who appeared on the screen.

 _"Uh... hi?"_ Synth asked uncomfortably. _"Tattletale? What are you doing on Chicago's tablet?"_

 _"Yo, Chicago!"_ Chiptune shouted. _"Is everything alright over there?"_

"No, everything's _not_ alright!" Chicago barked as he looked over Tattletale's shoulder. "My tool of the trade is being manhandled!"

 ** _"GROOOAAARR!"_**

He flinched at the roar and tearing of metal. "But seriously though, we're in a jam. Just do whatever she says, alright?"

 _"Err... fine? I guess..."_

"Great!" Tattletale chirped eagerly. "Now then, you know that thing that Chicago setup for you two?"

 _"Uhh..."_ The DJs glanced at each other in confusion. _"The 'thing'?"_

"You know! The thing, the thing! The one that Chicago hacked for you t- _yes!"_ She jabbed at the camera suddenly. "Yes, _that_ thing, yes, that one! Yes yes, you're thinking of the right thing! Do that, do the thing!" She blinked and looked up contemplatively. "Ooooh, I like the sound of that. 'Do the thing'. 'Do the _thing.'_ 'Do _the_ thing.' I've gotta use that more often..."

 _"Chicago?"_ DJ Synth cut in. _"If I_ think _she's talking about what she's talking about..."_

"I am!"

"Ergh..." The hooded reaper massaged his forehead. "I think I know what she means... and yeah. It's _that_ bad. Do it."

 _"Alright, if you say so..."_ DJ Chiptune muttered. _"Good luck, man."_

"Thanks..." Chicago grumbled as the screen shut off and he yanked it back. "We're gonna need it."

"What was that all about?" Kaiser demanded.

"Oh, just putting into use a little... party favor that Chicago cooked up."

"What _kind_ of party favor?"

At that instant, all noise was drowned out by a _very_ familiar and _very_ foreboding sound.

Grunge's mouth dropped open in sheer shock as he listened to the wail of the Endbringer sirens. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Chicago whimpered and shrank in on himself as Armsmaster loomed over him menacingly.

 _"Why_ do you have a backdoor to the Endbringer alarm system?" He growled furiously.

"Eheheh..." The informant chuckled nervously. "City-wide party emergency?"

"You _do_ realize that after this is over I'm going to put a price on your head, correct?"

"Again!? Damn it, fifth state in a row!"

"...riiiight. Anyways..." The Tinker snapped his attention to the ever-grinning Tattletale. "And you! What the hell do you think you're pulling!?"

Tattletale rolled her eyes. "Clearing the streets, _obviously._ Do you _want_ that thing to munch down on every random passerby and their grandmother when it goes topside?"

"You want to let her out of here?!" Ballistic sputtered.

" _Obviously!_ After all, we can't hold her in here! She's going to get through Labyrinth's walls sooner or later, she's halfway through already, so we need to draw her out into the open!"

"Alright, so that's how we don't get killed dealing with her," Brandish nodded slowly. "But how do we _deal_ with her?!"

"That's where you come in!" Tattletale answered exuberantly, jabbing a finger in Armsmaster's visor. "Armsy, you need to go back to PRT HQ and get the thing!" She suddenly groaned in frustration and began to knead her forehead. "Nooooo, not that thing, the _other_ thing! The other other thing! Are you even trying!? Not that thing either! Come on Armsy! The thing, the thing you were saving for- _YES!"_ She jumped excitedly. "That's the thing, right there! You need to get that! Go get it, Armsy, go get the thing!"

"Stop. Talking to me. Like that." He growled furiously.

"No!"

Armsmaster snorted furiously, counting backwards in his head as he throttled his halberd before slowly relinquishing his grip. "That... 'thing'... you're talking about-"

"Would have a fifty-fifty chance of backfiring and killing a few people, depending on which one you used it against." She deadpanned, her smile dropping for once. "If against the prior, then yeah, good chance. But if it's the second, it'll do more harm than good. At least this way, you know it does _some_ good. Alright?"

The Tinker pursed his lips tightly for a second before slowly nodding. "I... comprehend."

"Great!" Tattletale perked up again. "Now, go get the-!"

"If you say 'thing' again, I _will_ taze you."

Tattletale snapped her mouth shut.

Armsmaster pointed at Miss Militia. "You're in charge. I'll try and be back as soon as I can. I'll need to prep it first, finish it, but I should be back in about... thirty minutes."

With that, he turned and exited the base as fast as he could

"Wait, why not just have Psycho 'port him there!?" Gangsta jabbed a thumb at the masked Reaper.

"Because he's been teleporting all day and he can't handle a jump that big. Right?"

The fox-themed Reaper shot her a shaky thumbs-up as he swayed on his feet.

"So!" Tattletale clapped her hands. "As such, we need to buy time for Armsy to get back with the thing. So! We'll be drawing Noelle out into the open where we can stall her without danger. The main idea will be to run and gun: keep moving, don't stop, don't give her even a second to try and get a foothold. We just. Keep. Moving. Blasters, Tinkers with the tech, lay into her. Every second of every minute, just do _not_ let up. Brutes, Movers, you'll be transporting any Blasters who can't keep up on their own. Make sure you keep a minimum of thirty to fifty feet away from her unless you know, _know_ , that you can dodge her tentacles or get away without being yanked in. Even a trace of doubt, you stay the hell back. You get caught? You're as good as dead."

"You seem to be giving a _lot_ of orders for someone who isn't going to be putting their neck on the line!" Spitfire accused venomously.

"Of _course_ I'm giving you guys a lot of orders!" Tattletale spread her arms in exasperation. "After all, I'm trying to ride on the high of being in command for as long as I can so that I don't panic from the pressure of what _I'm_ going to be doing!"

"And that would be...?" Lady Photon trailed off curiously.

"I'm going to be acting as _bait!"_

The Parahumans stared at her incredulously.

"Well..." She backpedalled slightly and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at Mush and his captives. "Me and them, of course."

 _"WHAT!?"_ Ballistic yelped in panic, a sentiment that was mirrored by the other Travelers.

 **-o-**

Noelle huffed and growled as her body clawed at the ragged metal barrier before her.

In some deep part of herself, Noelle knew what she was doing was wrong. In the back of her mind, a tiny little voice was pleading with her to stop, to do the right thing and go back to the cell, to just stop _moving._

This voice was violently and ruthlessly silenced by the sheer, overwhelming rage that was driving her to _tear through everything in her way,_ save her friends and **_rip that lying bitch's HEAD OFF!_**

She was about halfway through the barrier... when it suddenly evaporated. Without warning, the hellish facade around her faded away into nothingness, receding into the smooth walls she remembered.

The atrium ahead was empty, devoid of the Parahumans that had previously occupied it.

"Hey pukey!"

Correction, _almost_ devoid.

The last thing remaining in the chamber was Squealer's demon-truck. Mush's body was back in the truck-bed, and Tattletale was sitting back there with him, grinning impishly at her.

"Congratulations! You finally managed to haul your ugly ass through all those walls! Good for you!" Tattletale chuckled as she jabbed her thumb at the furiously struggling Travelers. "By the way, got your friends here too! Just thought you should say goodbye to them before we haul 'em off to the Birdcage! You know, big, inescapable Parahuman prison where they'll probably be someone's bi-!"

 ** _"GROOOAAAARR!"_**

"-Right, she's plenty pissed!" Tattletale amended as she hammered on the truck's cab. "Gogogo!"

The truck's wheels smoked and squealed as they dug into the meal floor, the vehicle tearing out of the room and towards the base's exit ramp at high speeds, with Noelle hot on its tail.

Tattletale clutched at the side of the truck as it rocketed out into the open, wind whipping through her hair.

The whole time, she cackled madly.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" Ballistic shouted fearfully.

Tattletale fell silent for a moment, her grin slipping off her face. "I THINK YOU'RE RIGHT..." She mused...

Before allowing the grin to return, twice as mad.

"ISN'T IT EXCITING!?"

 _"SOMEBODY SAVE ME!"_


	19. Allegro 4

**Allegro 4**

"LEFT!"

SCREECH!

"RIGHT!"

SCREECH!

"PUNCH IT!"

"QUIT BACKSEAT DRIVING, BITCH!"

"DO YOU WANT TO DO YOUR OWN THING AND DIE, OR DO YOU WANT TO LISTEN TO ME AND LIVE!?"

 ** _"GROOOAAAR!"_**

VROOOOM!

"THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT!"

This was the general tone of any and all conversation that occurred on Squealer's demon-truck as they roared down the _mercifully_ empty streets of Brockton Bay, closely pursued by the massive, enraged and recently fire-breathing behemoth that was Noelle Meinhardt.

"YOU REALIZE THAT SHE'S GOING TO KILL US, RIGHT?" Ballistic demanded, shouting like Tattletale and Squealer to make himself heard over the sound of the howling wind.

"OH DON'T BE SUCH A SPOIL SPORT, WE'LL BE FINE!" Tattletale responded, breathing slightly through her nose as she leaned against the side of the truck's bed. "ALSO, SHUT UP! MY HEAD IS _KILLING_ ME, AND ADRENALINE CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH!"

"HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK THAT WE'LL SURVIVE!? NOELLE WANTS _YOU_ DEAD! PERSONALLY! I'VE NEVER SEEN HER THIS PISSED!"

"SIMPLE! BECAUSE MY FRIENDS AND THE REAPERS ARE OUT THERE, AND IF ANYONE KNOWS HOW TO DO THE IMPOSSIBLE, IT'S THEM!"

"THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL THEY HAVE A PLAN TO DEAL WITH _NOELLE!"_

 **-o-**

"So, we're all clear on the plan to deal with Noelle?" The Composer pressed, looking around at the heroes and villains assembled.

A majority of the parahumans nodded in agreement with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Others, most notably Grue, were a bit... reluctant.

"You _do_ realize we're all going to die, right?" He asked in a deadpan tone.

"Ah, lighten up, Grue!" Gangsta slung her arm around her brother's shoulders eagerly. "We're just baiting an Endbringer-esque monstrosity into a trap wherein we shall brutally and efficiently murder it! No biggie!"

Grue gave his sister a flat look through his helmet. "No biggie. Really."

"Hey, look at the bright side: it'll be _great_ experience for the next real one."

"Somehow I don't feel relieved..."

"Alright, enough!" The chief Reaper snapped. "You all know your jobs. Lady Photon, Purity, Hip, Hop, go and tell Tattletale the extension to the plan and then lay down covering fire. Slow them down as much as possible. We need time to make this work. Faultline, Kaiser, Miss Militia, you know what you need to do. Everyone else, dig in. We're going to be in it for the long haul."

The Parahumans disbanded, some dropping into alleyways while others made their way onto different rooftops. The fliers took off and started to soar towards where they could still hear the roar of both Noelle and the large Tinker-tech truck. Meanwhile, Miss Militia, Kaiser and Faultline dropped to the street and made their way over to a nearby manhole. With a quick kick, Faultline caused the cover to cave in and the trio climbed down into the sewers.

The Composer was silent as she watched the heroes, villains and Reapers scatter. She didn't even turn around as Brandish stepped up behind her, casting a searching look at her.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" The senior Dallon queried with a fair amount of weariness.

The Composer sighed tiredly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Hell if I know. Right now, I'll take simply surviving as a victory."

Brandish sighed in agreement. "I suppose that's all we can ever hope for, isn't it?"

"Amen."

 **-o-**

"They're just around the corner!" Chicago called out from his perch on the rooftop of one of the street's buildings.

"Everyone, get ready!" The Composer called out. She then glanced behind her at Kaiser. "You're _certain_ that the supports will hold?"

Kaiser's only answer was a flat glare.

"Right, sorry. Alright, let's try again: will they collapse when we need them to?"

The only response was the glare becoming even flatter.

"Riiiiiight. Well, whatever, all that matters is that it works. If not..."

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

"Well, try not to think about that! For now, showtime!"

As if on cue, Squealer's demon-truck skid around the street's corner, barely making the turn and rumbling down the road and stopping at the end of the street, just beneath the Composer and her allies. Seconds later, Noelle turned the corner in turn and made to pursue her prey, occasionally snapping a tentacle out at the fliers that were flitting above and pestering her.

The Composer nodded at Miss Militia. "Do it."

The hero nodded in agreement, then flipped the lid of the detonator she was holding open and pressed down on the button.

BOOM!

 **"GREEEAAAGH!"**

Noelle screeched in shock and fear when the street outright _collapsed_ under her, the asphalt she was standing on shattering and falling away, dumping her into the sewers below. She then screamed in pain as she landed on the fragmented metal that awaited below.

"LAY INTO HER! GO GO GO!" The Composer swung her arm at the gaping chasm.

In response, the majority of Brockton Bay's Parahumans re-emerged from the roofs and alleyways they'd been hiding in and began to unleash as violent and destructive a barrage as they could manage.

Miss Militia hefted a large, extremely heavy-looking missile launcher and proceeded to fire off rocket after rocket. Kaiser, on the other hand, swung his arm down, calling down a small forest of spikes and pillars to impale the monster in the abyss.

The Composer nodded in silent approval as she observed the onslaught. "That should keep her occupied long enough for Armsmaster to get here..." She mused to herself.

"Hey, Composer!"

The Reaper looked down from the edge of the roof at Tattletale, who was eagerly waving from the bed of the demon-truck. "Nice addition to the plan! Let me guess, I forgot that not everyone would be able to keep up, huh?"

The Composer nodded. "Not that big of a deal. It worked out in the end. We have Noelle in an advantageous position. Now we just have to hope she doesn't find a way out."

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

The Composer twitched visibly as she watched a massive, disfigured wing made of tattoos reached up over the lip of the street-long pit, ignoring the firepower aimed at it, and dug into the street that remained. Slowly, the snarling visage of an imitation drake dragged its way up into view. She cast a flat look at Miss Militia and Kaiser. "Well. Any ideas?"

"THAT FUCKING _TEARS IT!"_

The Parahumans jumped in shock when Skidmark's particularly gravelly voice rang out from the demon-truck's cab.

Kaiser instinctively scowled in response to the insubordination. "Skidmark, why don't you do our I.Q.s all a favor and-!"

 _"FUCK_ YOU, KAISER!" The Merchant leader roared, clambering out of the passenger-side window to glare at his rival gang-leader from over the roof of the cab. "AND FUCK YOU ALL FOR NOT EVEN THINKIN' THAT WE CAN DO JACK SHIT! RESPECT _THIS,_ COCKSUCKERS!" He rammed his fist down on the truck's roof. "TURN THIS DAMN THING AROUND AND CRACK THIS FUCKING STREET WIDE OPEN!"

With a squeal of rubber, the demon-truck's wheels squealed in different directions so as to rotate the vehicle a one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. They then spread out, lowering the cab down so that it was right next to the street. Suddenly...

CRACK!

The asphalt shattered like glass as a piston slammed into the street.

Skidmark cackled as he hung out of the window and swung his free arm. "EAT THIS, CUNTSHIT!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then... the fragments of the street began to slide. Slowly at first, the first few fragments began to pile up against the struggling malformed Drake, but then began to accelerate. One after another, they slid faster and faster. The end result was the entirety of the street practically ramming itself down the Drake's throat and snapping its neck. The scream that erupted from the bottom of the pit left no illusions as to where the stone landed when the Drake fell.

The assault lulled for a moment as the Parahumans took in the carnage, Skidmark's whooping and hollering filling the silence. "HAHAHA! HELL YEAH! SUCK IT, SHITSTAINS! _THAT_ IS HOW YOU DO IT! HAHAHA! MOTHERFUCKING _RESPECT!"_

The Composer blinked as she came out of her shock. "Umm... wow. Is it just me, or is his vocabulary becoming more and more tolerable?"

Miss Militia sighed as she kneaded the bridge of her nose. "The adrenaline must have burned the drugs out of his system. He isn't near the top of Brockton Bay's most wanted list for nothing."

"Indeed." Kaiser drawled. "And now we are presented with the eternal question that us villains here in Brockton Bay face: do we force him into rehab to spare our senses, or do we stick the needle in his arm to preserve our territory?"

"Duly noted..."

A new roar and sounds of struggling from the street-long trench prompted the Parahumans to renew their assault, laying down a barrage of stone and energy directed at the target of their ire.

However, not _all_ of the fighters were attacking Noelle. Some were fighting her... _byproducts._

"On your left!"

RATATAT!

"And your right!"

RATATAT!

 **FWOOSH!** BANG BANG BANG!

"Thanks, Psycho!" "Psycho! Thanks!"

 **FWOOSH!**

The twins sighed a breath of relief at the temporary reprieve before swinging up their weapons and firing at the vandalized Noise that were persistently assaulting them. Ever since Noelle had swallowed their Minks whole, the resultant monstrosities had been doing their level best to try and chew, claw, and all around _rip_ their faces off. It was only thanks to their teamwork and Psycho's occasional support that they had been able to fight off the small swarm at all.

"This!" Hip grunted as she rammed her gun into the gut of one of the monster-Minks and fired point blank. "Is getting annoying!"

"Agree-ERK!" Hop narrowly flapped his way over a creature that had pounced at his feet. "Agreed! Grgh, at least the pit's so deep that not even the fire can reach us!"

"Yeah!" Hip huffed tiredly. "We're almost five stories up, how the hell else could she get us besides these things?!"

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

The duo flinched at the roar... then paled as a massive shadow fell over them.

Slowly looking up, they stared in horror at the _massive_ tentacle that had risen from the pit and was towering above them.

Reacting on instinct, the two attempted to flap their wings... and snapped their heads over their shoulders and stared in horror as they watched a pair of monstrosities behind them gnaw at the remains of their tattoo additions. They didn't even need to touch their cans to know that they were both out of any and all Melodies.

Hip and Hop slowly looked at each other.

"Brother?"

"Yes sister?"

"This is going to suck, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah."

The tentacle began to fall towards them...

 **FWOOSH!**

And the twins yelped in shock when Psychedelic nabbed them by the back of their hoodies and tossed them off the roof.

The fox-themed Reaper attempted to warp away as the tentacle fell towards him... and flinched when a bolt of pain shot through his body. He tried to warp again, but kept drawing blank on his power. All he needed was one more second, _one more second..._

Too late. The tentacle was inches from his head.

Time seemed to slow to a near halt.

Impact in three.

Two.

One.

A weight rammed into his shoulder, shoving him out of the way and sprawling onto the rooftop, the tentacle destroying where he'd once stood.

Acting out of pure instinct, Psychedelic tapped back into his power and warped to a nearby rooftop, huffing and puffing as he doubled over and gripped his knees.

BOOM!

His attention was snapped back to where he'd once been by a large explosion from where the roof he'd just been on, followed by Noelle screeching in pain, though admittedly that last one was nothing new.

Suddenly, Psycho straightened up, snapped his head around... and stared at the blank demon mask of Oni Lee.

Oni Lee stared back, equally silent.

Neither moved.

Neither breathed.

They could have stood there for hours...

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

If not for Noelle's fury regaining their attention.

After a moment of intense thought, Oni Lee and Psycho nodded at each other with an air of finality.

Oni Lee unslung a bandolier-full of grenades and tossed it at Psycho, who slipped it on in a single deft move.

The two warped off the rooftop in their own manners...

 **BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!**

And the world was filled with a nigh unending stream of explosions.

Meanwhile, back where the fox-themed Reaper had started, in a nearby alleyway, the contents of a _very_ full dumpster shifted about a bit until a pair of hooded heads popped out from between the trash bags.

The two were silent for a moment before speaking.

"Brother?"

"Yes, sister?"

"Do you think that that whole 'karma' thing Tattletale was going on about might hold weight?"

"Considering how we're the child overlords of most all street-crime in Brockton Bay? I sure _hope_ not!"

Suddenly, the sound of scratching and growling above them caused them to look up and stare at the horde of deformed critters that were crawling and hovering above them.

The twins gave each other panicked looks.

"Uh oh," They chorused.

They flinched as the monsters dropped down on them...

 **ZAP!**

Then blinked in shock when all that landed on them was a small shower of ashes.

"The hell!?" They asked simultaneously.

 _"Remain calm, citizens!"_

The twins jumped when an electronic voice filled the alleyway. They turned to look at the source of the voice... and gaped in shock.

Standing in the alleyway was a _hulking_ figure, at least eight feet tall and wider than any normal person deserved to be. The majority of this bulk could most _definitely_ be attributed to the armor he was sporting: a navy-blue mechanized suit with large shoulder-plates, backpack, and a red-lensed and gap-mouthed helmet. Clutched in his hand was a large rifle whose barrel was lightly smoking.

 _"The Adeptus Astartes have arrived!"_ The figure rumbled.

Finally, Hip and Hop got their jaws working.

"Uber!?" The sister sputtered in disbelief.

"I- are you wearing _Ultramarine_ armor!?" The brother gaped.

Uber chuckled as he brought his free hand up in a salute. _"You're damn right it is! We heard the Endbringer alarms go off and came ready for war. Although..."_ He looked past them and stared at the pit. _"That is distinctly_ not _Behemoth, Leviathan,_ or _the Simurgh. Dare I even ask?"_

"Let's just say that Coil was into some really weird shit and leave it at that." Hip deadpanned.

"Anyways!" Hop changed the subject. "What about Leet? Aren't the two of you supposed to be inseparable?"

 _"He's coming. He had to take the long way around."_

"How come?"

Uber made to answer...

 **BOOM!**

And was cut off by a literally ground-shaking explosion.

 ** _"FOR THE EMPEROR!"_** An inhumanely loud electronic voice roared. The statement was followed by an insane amount of gunfire.

Hip and Hop were silent as they stared at Uber in awe.

"Did you guys...?" Hip breathed.

"Make an Emperor-damned _Titan?"_ Hop finished.

 _"Warhound-class, to be specific!"_ Uber puffed his chest out in pride. _"Admittedly, they're meant to act as scouts, but it was all we could manage with the resources we bought from the party. Impressive, no?"_

Hip and Hop glanced at each other before sniffing and turning their noses up disdainfully.

"Points for using Warhammer," Hip started.

"But _boo_ for using the Marines! Down with the Imperium!" Hop cried exuberantly.

Uber scoffed in disbelief. _"Seriously? Well who would_ you _prefer, smart guys?"_

The twins glanced at one another before grinning with an insane eagerness.

"You got a spare bolter and chain-sword we could borrow?" Hop inquired eagerly.

The video-game villain hesitated slightly before nodding. _"Yeah... but you need to promise to give them back, alright? Needless to say, they're the only ones we have."_

"We promise!"

"Scout's honor!"

 _"Why does that not reassure me?"_ Uber muttered. Nevertheless, he dug the weapons out of his backpack and held them out for the twins.

Hip barely repressed a squeal as she gripped the bolter, while Hop nearly cackled as he revved the chainsword.

"I'll pelt the boss, you keep the mobs off me?" The girl asked, her grin never leaving her face.

"Sounds like a plan!" The boy concurred. "Just one thing. PSYCHO!"

 **FWOOSH!**

The teleporting Reaper warped behind the two, his foot tapping on the ground impatiently.

"Reload, please!" The twins rocked on their heels innocently.

Psycho motioned like he was rolling his eyes before tossing the two a pair of cans with wings on them.

"Thank you!"

The fox-man flashed them a slightly rude gesture before warping away.

"Well, that was rude!" Hip huffed.

"Eh, he was probably just tired or something, we've all had a long day." Hop shrugged.

"Fair enough!" Hip nodded before grinning at her brother. "Now then... shall we, brother?"

Hop returned the grin with equal malice. "Let's, sister!"

Uber swallowed nervously as the twins conjured their respective wings. "Why do I feel like I just made a big mistake?"

 **-o-**

"So, Grunge!" South grunted as he let loose another round of paint into the horde of mutated Mink noise that was circling above him and his bear-themed colleague. "How're things at the PRT? Is the pay any good?"

"You are _seriously_ asking me this _now!?"_ Grunge snarled as he struggled to work out a spent can of Noise that had jammed in his launcher's cylinder.

"Well, as you know, the farm's not been doin' that well lately, and it's not like the bar rakes in a lot of cash..."

"Do you even pay any kind of taxes!?"

"Well, no, but I've been eyein' this high-tech karaoke system for awhile now. I figure that if we live through this, it'd be nice if I could find a way to buy it!"

"Oh for the love of-! Well, I suppose that there's an open spot for a good cook at the PRT cafeteria. Anything's gotta be better than the slop that they serve there. Though for the record!" Grunge grunted as he clicked his gun's cylinder shut and fired another blast into the throng. "I'm not sure how much longer we're gonna last without a god-be-damned miracle!"

"RAAAH!"

Both the Reapers and mutilated Noise alike froze when two blurs shot out of a nearby alley and up into the cloud of creatures.

"WAAAAAAAGH! DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!" Hip laughed as she fired at everything that was inhuman and flying.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" Hop cheered ecstatically as he vigorously reenacted a twisted union of _Friday the Thirteenth_ and _Texas Chainsaw Massacre._

Grunge and South were silent as they overlooked the morbid display of brutality.

"... does that even _remotely-?"_

"Nope."

"Ah... Does this count as a-?"

 _"Hell_ nope."

"Good."

"... wanna get back to blasting the twenty foot tall tragic freak of nature?"

 _"Please."_

And so they did, ignoring the carnage above them as well as they could.

 **-o-**

"And if you sign up now, I _guarantee_ you both a life-long health insurance plan _plus_ dental! And I mean _quality_ dental, not that pathetic knockoff Coil was offering."

"Tattletale, stop making a sales pitch..." The Composer growled as she pinched the bridge of her nose before glaring at the asexual entertainer-based villain. "And you! Stop looking like you're actually contemplating it!"

Circus grinned nervously and rocked back on... his? heels, whistling innocently.

"Aw c'mon!" Tattletale whined. "I need to grab ahold of what little of Coil's empire remains while I can! Besides, it's not like me or Circus can actually do anything! It's Trainwreck who's doing all the work!"

She was right: the large, armored Parahuman was standing at the mouth of the chasm Noelle was in. While he couldn't do much on his own, he _was_ causing ungodly amounts of damage by loading and firing a large, two-pronged weapon that was strapped to his back.

"Hot damn!" Skidmark whistled appreciatively from the cab of Squealer's truck, watching as another round tore through the head of another malformed Noise that had tried to climb out. "That's one kickass gun! The hell's it called?"

"It's a rail- _OOF!"_ Miss Militia was cut off by Kaiser ramming his elbow into her side. She glared at him momentarily before catching sight of the way he was frantically shaking his head and paling in realization. "Ah... _really_ unique gun. Must be an original work of Leet's?"

"Huh... damn... woulda loved to get my hands on one..."

The hero and non-Merchant villains heaved simultaneous silent sighs of relief as Skidmark seemed to let the issue drop.

Finally, it was Ballistic who broke the silence.

"Composer... listen... I..." He sighed and shook his head wearily. "Can... you let me out of this junk pile?"

"And _why_ should we do that?" The Chief Reaper demanded flatly.

"Because..." The Traveler let his shoulders slump. "I want to help you... help you... s-stop Noelle."

"MMPH!?" Trickster screamed through the Jelly gagging his mouth.

"FUCK YOU, KROUSE!" Ballistic responded, his temper flaring instantly. "I've sacrificed _enough_ for that monster's sake! Enough that I _damn well_ have the right to say when it ends! And it ends right here! Right now! I am sick of wasting my life! For the first time in years, I want the chance to be free and to actually _live_ for a bit! So fuck you, Krouse. And if I have to... fuck Noelle."

Composer was silent as she stared at Ballistic for a moment before glancing at Tattletale. Upon receiving a nod, she promptly waved her hand at Mush. "Cut him loose. Kaiser, if you don't mind, supply him with some heavy-duty ammo."

The mass of garbage promptly sluggishly shifted around, spitting out the heavily-padded villain.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only thing that came out. A small amount of Mush's mass came out behind Ballistic.

While it didn't free anyone else, it _did_ give Trickster just enough room to rip his arm out of the mass and claw off the Jelly that was covering his eyes.

The next instant, Ballistic was back inside Mush, and Trickster was free, glaring furiously at the capes surrounding him.

Miss Militia's eyes widened in shock as her hand was filled with green light. "LOOK-!"

"Woah!" Glory Girl stumbled in shock as she suddenly appeared, nearly impacting the roof. "What just-OH SHIT!" She swore as she looked up and caught sight of the flailing person falling from the sky, soaring up to save her.

"Trickster, let's be reasona-! GAH" Tattletale ducked in panic beneath Hop's sword as he swung madly in her general direction.

"Trickster!" The Composer demanded. "Enough! Stop! Before someone gets-!"

"Hurt?" She blinked in surprise when found herself squarely above the pit Noelle was in. "Oh _sonofa-!"_

Acting on instinct, the Composer swiftly conjured a pair of wings from her shoulders in a burst of static, pumping them frantically in an effort to get back to where she started.

She was almost halfway back. She could even _see_ Psycho gripping Trickster by the front of his shirt with one hand and rapidly slapping him back and forth across his face with the other.

 _'Almost there, almost there, almost there!'_

Then she felt something wrap around her ankle.

 _'...oh shit.'_

There was a jerk, a rush of air, and then...

 **"This... this is never going to end. It's never going to end, I don't have anywhere I can go... I... what do I... what do I do... What do I do, what do I do, _what do I DO!?"_**

 **NEED TO GET OUT...**

 **NEED TO GET OUT...**

 **LET ME OUT... LET ME OUT... LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!**

 **LET!**

 **ME!**

 ** _OUT!_**

SQUEALCH!

Taylor huffed and roared furiously as she _ripped_ her way out of the fleshy prison that was containing her, her world little more than a flurry of fangs, fire, claws, explosions and _fury._

She kept struggling for a moment until _something_ gripped the back of her shirt...

 **FWOOSH!**

And she found herself collapsing on a roof, only half-consciously dismissing her Melodies.

"Boss!" Gangsta was at her side in an instant, giving her a shoulder and helping her climb to her feet. "Damn that was badass, b-but are you okay?"

The Composer hacked and wheezed, trying to dislodge some of the noxious fluid that had managed to slide down her throat. "R-relatively... Trickster?"

"Psycho's handling him." Gangsta nodded towards the edge of the roof. True to her word, the warping Reaper was holding the Traveler leader by his ankles and suspending him over the street as he shook him up and down, making sure that his coat was bunched up over his head. "I don't think he'll be causing us any more trouble."

"Damn..." Ballistic breathed in awe. "No one's _ever_ gotten out of Noelle on their own before. That was... damn, the girl's right, that _was_ badass."

"Thanks..." The Composer coughed. "But... what about my..." She shuddered violently. "My clone? Is she going to clone me or...?"

Ballistic shrugged helplessly. "I... I don't know. I mean... after all, it wasn't like there's an exact science. And again, nobody's ever done that before so... maybe she won't?"

 **"GREEEAAARGH!"**

Noelle didn't roar this time. This time... she _screamed._

What little of her massive body could be seen shuddered and stumbled in pain as the monster stumbled backwards fitfully, her limbs flailing about madly. The anterior part of her lower mass bulged and warped violently, tracts of skin splitting open slightly.

Finally, without warning...

SQUEARCH!

 ** _"GREEEAAARGH!"_**

Her body blew open, and some _thing_ ripped its way out of her, leaping its way onto the pavement.

It lay still for a moment...

 **"RAAAAAAGH!"**

Before throwing its head back and _screaming._

The onlookers could do little more than stare at the newest monster in horror.

It... _appeared_ to be human, in the vaguest sense of the word. After all, it had flesh, bone... and that was it. Not even a trace of skin hid the creature's musculature, and said muscles barely covered its entire skeleton. As twisted as its body was, it was only compounded by the writhing, warped mass of pseudo-flesh that _could_ have been Melodies in another life that was crawling within and over her frame. Parts of it formed claws, others legs, tails, wings, quills, even jaws.

It was only half-formed, but it was _all_ horrific.

"Then again, maybe she will..." Ballistic whimpered.

The Composer groaned as she pushed herself away from Gangsta and rolled her limbs wearily. "The job never stops, does it?"

 ** _"RAAAAAAGH!"_**


	20. Allegro 5

**Allegro 5**

"What the hell is wrong with that thing!?" Gangsta sputtered. "Look at it! It's ugly as sin, might as well have gone through a woodchipper! Apart from that, it looks _nothing_ like the boss!"

"Thank you. So much, Gangsta. Your kind words are such a boon to my self-confidence." The Composer deadpanned, glaring at her flatly.

"Eh, I'm just trying to be honest. Is that such a crime?" The Reaper asked innocently.

"It is if I-"

 **"GRAAAAH!"**

SMASH!

The gathered capes and associates flinched as the monster in the street let out an all too wet-sounding roar as it retracted a warped, clawed arm enlarged by tattoo-flesh from the wall of one of the buildings it had attacked in a fit of rage. It then proceeded to hurl a chunk of stone and plaster at Trainwreck, who barely batted it away as he stumbled back from the creature.

"This is no time for jokes!" Kaiser snarled, glaring at Ballistic. "You. You're familiar with the monster that made that thing. What the hell is wrong with it?"

"I-I don't know!" The Traveler sputtered defensively. "It's not like there's an exact science! All we know is that when she touches someone, she makes a clone that's fucked up, and if they have powers then they come out fucked up too! But, well, while none of the clones she's made in the past have been stable by any stretch of the mind, they've never been this degree of batshit insane!"

The Composer was silent as she thought for a moment before groaning and ramming the heel of her palm into her forehead. "I... think it might have been driven insane... by my powers."

"Explain." Kaiser demanded flatly, with no small amount of accusation in his voice. "Now."

The chief Reaper gave him a flat glare in response. "Watch it, Kaiser. I assure you, I'm perfectly sane. It's just that my powers can be... disconcerting, without proper concentration. There's a reason why I always listen to music you know. If the first noise in that thing's head was a distortion of what's in mine..."

 **"GREEAAGH!"**

"GAH! SOMEONE HELP ME WITH THIS THING, DAMN IT!"

The Composer winced as Trainwreck let out a distressed call when the creature scratched at his arm, trying its level best to rip-

SCRACK!

 _Ripping_ the arm straight off of his armor with a set of Drake-jaws that had interposed itself over its arm.

"Yeah, that. PURITY! BLAST THAT THING INTO THE PIT! WITH ANY LUCK, IT AND NOELLE WON'T GET ALONG!"

With a flash of light, the ex-neo-nazi flashed behind the creature and let loose a barrage of energy, sending it flying over the pit...

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

Where it was promptly caught by a tentacle and flung up and out of sight, screaming and flailing all the while.

"Well, that didn't work." Hop deadpanned.

"That thing is going to be back sooner or later, and it's going to be absolutely pissed. And I mean head-smashing pissed. It's how I'd react in a similar situation." The Composer stated grimly.

Tattletale breathed heavily as she bit her lip and massaged her temples for a moment before speaking. "Alright, we need to take care of that thing ASAP. If it escapes... yeah, I'd rather not have a roaming A-and-or-S Class threat, thanks. Composer-!"

"I'll handle it myself." The Composer growled darkly. "That thing is plagiarizing my good name, and not in a way I can even begin to approve of. It's my responsibility, I'll be the one to kill it. Tattletale, who do you think would best help me?"

The Parahumans and Reapers stared at her in shock.

"Boss, do you know what you're-!?" Gangsta sputtered.

The Composer silenced her with a raised hand. "Tattletale."

"I... uh... right..." The Thinker nodded slowly. "W-well... in that case... Bitch and her dogs are tough... Glory Girl can take a hit, though she'll need to be careful... and..." She cast an uneasy glance at Kaiser. "Hookwolf... should be strong enough... I suppose."

"Oh!" Hop piped up. "Take Uber too. Leet's been holding back the good stuff, he made some _sweet_ Ultramarine armor! I think he could tank a tank!"

"Yeah... him too..." Tattletale nodded uneasily.

"Alright, good." The Composer nodded definitively. "Now, we need to figure out some way of getting everyone's atten-"

WOOP! "HEY, ASSORTED JERKS AND JACKASSES! GET YOUR BUTTS OVER HERE ASAP, WE'RE GONNA TALK STRATEGY!"

"Gah!" The Composer winced as she whipped her hands to her throbbing ears and cast a murderous glare at the male twin who was grinning impishly at her. "Where the hell did you get that megaphone!?"

"Why the hell don't you already have one?" Hop sniggered as he slid the miniature bullhorn back beneath his hoodie.

"I-! You-! That's-! Grgh!" The Composer flung her hands up in frustration as the rest of the assorted heroes and villains began to gather on or around the building she was perched on. "I'll deal with you later."

"You will try!"

"And you will fail!" Hip piped up as she joined her brother.

"FOR WE ARE-!"

"Very annoying..." Chicago groused from street-level before refocusing on his boss. "What's the plan, chief?"

"We're doubling down on that thing," The Reaper-in-chief ordered firmly. "Trainwreck, how's your armor holding up?"

The metal behemoth grumbled darkly as he rubbed the hole in his armor. "The stupid thing did a number on me, but I'll live. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually a part of this, I just power it after I slap it together. Should be able to just ram it back in."

The Composer nodded. "Good. Pull yourself together and get back to pummeling Noelle. The same goes for the rest of you. Blasters, Brutes, Shakers even, start laying in. I don't care what it takes or how much damage you cause to the city, just keep her in that pit until Armsmaster gets back from Protectorate Headquarters." She looked back at Tattletale. "I trust that whatever he has can put her down permanently, correct?"

The Undersider winced slightly before grinning foxily once anew. "Yeah! His thin- guh..." She faltered as the Composer levelled an uncharacteristically cold glare at her. "Y-yeah, she'll be down, I swear. I know it and so does he. He wouldn't have agreed to get it otherwise"

"Good," The Composer nodded slowly. "Good. Now..." She jumped off of the roof and landed heavily on the street below, the road cracking slightly under her newly kangaroo-like legs before they dissipated as she started to march forwards. "Hookwolf, Glory Girl, Bitch, Uber, you're with me. We're going hunting."

The four glanced at Kaiser, Brandish, Grue and Leet, or at least Leet's mecha, respectively before acquiescing and following her after receiving approval.

"So..." Glory Girl asked slowly. "What are we hunting exactly?"

" _Me._ " The Composer snarled.

As the rest of the assault group watched the hunting party march off, Tattletale winced as she actively clutched her throbbing skull. "Right... t-they're going to need a bit of help. Squealer, Leet, get your rides firing on automatic and get over here. Miss Militia, Victor, you too. Trainwreck, how much power can you put out?"

 **-o-**

 _"Oh yeah..."_ Uber nodded slowly as he played with the controls on the forearm of his armor. _"I can hear her on the other side of this building. She's definitely here."_

The group was currently gathered in an alleyway, awaiting the Composer's orders. They were all eager for action. Some more so than others.

"You know, I _could_ just fly up and check, right?" Glory Girl grumbled.

"And you'd get spotted and shot down as a result." The Composer stated firmly. "That thing might be twisted and half mad, but it's still me. The last thing we want is for it to get wind that we're about to attack it."

"How bad could that thing be?" Bitch grumbled, her dogs whining and sniffing around.

"If it has my powers? Very. I'm not trying to gloat, I'm just stating facts. I have a _lot_ of powers." The Composer started to count down on her fingers. "Super strength, teleportation, flight, pyrokinesis, projectiles, enhan-GRK!" She suddenly froze in abject horror.

"What?" Hookwolf rumbled from within his metal casing.

The Composer swallowed heavily, her frame shaking nervously. "E...enhanced... hearing..."

Suddenly, Uber's arm squawked out a furious warning. _"What the-!?"_

"MOVE!" The Composer ordered, encasing her legs in Boomer legs and leaping away.

Bitch gave a sharp whistle, causing her and her hounds to leap up to the rooftops, Glory Girl flew upwards, followed closely by Uber courtesy of a blast of flame from his backpack, and Hookwolf jumped backwards faster than most guys his size could have.

 **BOOM! "ROOOAAAR!"**

Not a moment too soon. Seconds after they'd moved, the wall they'd been standing by exploded outwards in a hail of brick, metal and other assorted construction materials. Standing in the dust cloud was the clone, snorting and growling furiously as the warped rhino-head that had replaced its arm devolved into energy, as well as the pair of bat ears plastered to the side of its head.

Suddenly, it snapped its bald, raw head to the side, staring straight at Hookwolf. In response, the E88 cape exploded outwards in a maelstrom of metal and fury. A maelstrom that was hit head-on by a flurry of teeth, claws and fangs.

When they met, the two opposing clashes pretty much merged into a senseless ball of violence, blood and fury. But no matter how much flesh and matter Hookwolf carved out of the monstrosity, it didn't seem to matter. It just kept coming and coming and coming, without so much as a hint of slowing down.

Finally, Hookwolf had enough. With a large shove of his metallic appendages, the neo-nazi launched the abomination straight upwards, leaving it flailing and howling in sheer, uncontrolled madness. However, before it could start to descend, a pair of wings, one with faux-feathers and one with distorted skin stretched out between bone. The wings flapped once, twice, keeping it aloft...

"GET IT!"

And was promptly rammed out of the sky by the combination of a large, mutated canine and a volatile ballistic bombshell. As a result, the creature was brought down into the middle of the street with a resounding, asphalt-shattering smash.

 _"Blast the damn thing!"_ Uber shouted, unslinging his lasgun and firing off several bolts of pure, focused light at the body. The Composer joined him by blasting several quills from her arm which detonated the moment they made contact.

After a full minute of firing, the pair ceased, Uber due to the barrel of his gun becoming too red for his comfort and the Composer because she couldn't keep her arms up anymore.

As the smoke dissipated, Glory Girl landed next to the pair, while Bitch and her dogs and a fully metal-encased Hookwolf stepped up behind them.

"Is it dead?" Bitch grumbled.

Finally, the smoke dissipated, displaying the charred and inert... _chunks_ that were laying in the remains of the street.

"Sure looks dead to me." Hookwolf rumbled, the grating in his swirling metal body imitating speech with disturbing accuracy.

Glory Girl started to nod before freezing. "If it's dead..." she asked slowly, her voice low with horror. "Then _why_ is it still moving!?"

Unfortunately enough, she was right. Both flesh and Noise alike were shifting and crawling, extending to slowly interconnect the pieces of the burnt and devastated body. Dauntingly, unerringly, the pieces began to draw themselves upright.

"Fun fact..." The Composer breathed numbly. "Jellyfish can regrow their limbs. Just a... little tidbit is all."

 _"I fucking_ hate _Chaos daemons..."_ Uber moaned.

" _You_ can do that!?" Glory Girl choked in horror.

"Hell no!" The Composer defended hastily. "Or at least, I don't think I can! I've never been pushed that far! I've got a grab-bag's worth of power, but I don't know if regeneration is one of them! This thing is using my powers in ways I didn't know I _possibly_ could!"

 **"ROAR!"**

"Watch it!" Hookwolf snarled, grabbing Uber and the Composer by their backs with the bluntest metal he had and yanking them back from the edge of the roof.

Moments later, the crushed body of a car rammed into the edge of the roof where they'd been moments earlier, causing no damage other than a strong blow to Glory Girl's pride when it knocked her flat on the rooftop.

"Ow!" She yelped, rubbing the back of her head as she tried to sit up before freezing in place. "Wait... 'ow'!?"

The Composer tentatively stepped forwards, glanced over the edge... and promptly jerked back to dodge an equally viciously-thrown mailbox. Finally, she managed to catch sight of her clone grasping a chunk of asphalt with a multitude of tentacles that were protruding from its body.

"See? Like that." She observed weakly before ducking back away from the roof as the stone occupied where her head was moments before.

"That _hurt?"_ Glory Girl sputtered. "How the hell did that hurt?!"

 _"Alright, so that thing is intelligent and it's not very willing to die."_ Uber summed up. _"What the hell do we do now!?"_

"Keep beating it down until it stops moving." Bitch growled.

The other hunters glanced at one another before they all shrugged.

 _"That could work."_ Uber nodded.

"It's worked before." Hookwolf admitted.

"Sounds like a fair plan." The Composer shrugged.

"I've tanked worse than that! There's no freaking reason that should have hurt!"

"Good. Now, first order of business!" The Composer started before freezing as realization set in. "Why isn't not-me throwing things at us anymore?"

She was answered by a trio of tentacles rising up above the lip of the roof and plunging down into it before straining as they started to haul _something_ up.

The Composer let out a low whistle as she stared at the pseudo-flesh limbs. "Wow, this thing is learning _fast."_

The rest of the attackers jumped backwards, Uber catching Glory Girl as he went, in order to evade the mass of flesh and rage that lunged up at them. Only the Composer remained unmoved.

 **SLAM! "ROAR!"**

The other four flinched at the noise... and slowly opened their eyes when nothing more came of it.

"Lucky for me..." The Composer grit out, two of the tattoo-elephant trunks sticking out of her back digging into the rooftop behind her while the other two fought to hold back the thrashing clone. "I learn fast too." And with that, she took the trunks digging into the roof out from behind her and, in one fast motion, slipped them beneath the clone's body and proceeded to flip it over her, launching it clear to another rooftop.

Glory Girl cocked an eyebrow as she watched the body fly and impact against another roof. "Damn, that's some good air. I should know, I have tons of experience flinging this dingus around." She jerked her thumb at Uber.

 _"Har har, you're a riot."_ The game-enthusiast groused.

 **"GRAAARGH!"** The clone screeched, scrambling to its feet, its rear-limbs morphing into amphibian legs whereas its arms morphed into dog legs that started to paw at the roof.

"No more talking!" Bitch ordered, letting out a sharp whistle and prompting her hounds to bound towards the monster with a trio of vicious howls.

"So, just confirming, the plan is to beat its head against the pavement until the twitching stops?" Glory Girl queried.

"I'm gonna guess that won't be a problem?" Hookwolf ground out.

"A chance to totally let loose? You're damn right it won't!" The heroine laughed, eagerly slamming her fists together as she floated into the air.

"Try not to enjoy yourself _too_ much, would you?" The Composer asked wearily. "Ugly as it might be, that's still _my_ face you're wailing on."

"Yeah yeah, I'll make sure not to have too much fun." Glory Girl griped before joining the fray, snapping open a bear-claw that was trying to crush a dog in its grip.

Hookwolf angled his faux-head at the Composer. "You realize that she's still going to-?"

"Just _go."_ She ordered.

Hookwolf let out a bark of laughter as he sprang across the gap between the buildings and proceeded to dig his hooks and blades into the clone's chest.

 _"We're the only sane people present, aren't we?"_ Uber asked flatly.

"Just pick and choose your shots." The Composer replied in the same tone as she raised her arms and trunks, flesh and pseudo-flesh alike bristling with corehog quills.

Uber cocked his lasgun. _"Fair enough."_

The two proceeded to unleash a barrage of projectiles, both physical and energy-based alike, at whatever portions of the clone were free to strike.

The brawl was violent, but even with all five Parahumans contributing to their fullest, nothing seemed to come of it. The monstrosity continued to struggle and fight, without showing so much as a hint of letting up anytime soon.

All of a sudden, Uber ceased his firing and brought his hand to his helmet. "Leet, I'm a bit busy here, could you-!? What? I- are you kidding!? Do you have any idea-? Are you sure that-? Alright, alright, fine, I'll pass it on, keep an eye out!" Uber brought his hand off his helmet and looked over at the Composer. "Leet says that the others have a plan. We need to get that thing into the air, high enough that they can see it from where that first thing was."

"What!?" The Composer squawked as she snapped her head towards him. "How the heck would we do that!? I can't even imagine how Hookwolf managed to do it the first time! Look, we have it pinned, why change n-?"

 **"GRAGH!" THWACK!**

"Watch it!"

"GRGH!"

"WOOF!"

Without warning, the clone's body suddenly surged outwards, lashing out and sending Hookwolf, Glory Girl and Bitch and her dogs flying back onto their roof. Then, it proceeded to crouch down on all fours and start to... _grow,_ its Noise-flesh steadily expanding and throbbing over its body.

The Composer stared at the display in confusion for a second before stiffening in horror. "Ooooh fuck me."

"What? What is it?" Hookwolf groaned as he clawed his way back upright.

"Remember what I said earlier in Coil's base about how my Goth Metal Drakes weren't the best I had?" She asked quietly, flinching visibly as static started to spark in the air around the clone. "Unless I miss my guess, _that's_ my best."

"On a scale of one to 'we're fucked', how screwed are we?" Glory Girl asked.

The Composer's expression went slightly lax as she stared into empty space. "Fugly Bob's is about a quarter mile from here, isn't it?" She mused to herself. "If we survive this, I will _really_ miss eating there."

Uber bit out a curse before addressing the others. _"We need to get that thing as high up as we can,_ now!"

The Composer shook herself out of her stupor and nodded in agreement. "It's a crazy plan, but it's a plan. Bitch, hold her down!"

The Undersider started to protest... and was firmly shot down by the _very_ firm glare the Reaper shot her.

 _"Now_ , Bitch!" She ordered.

Bitch tightened her jaw, but nevertheless let out a sharp whistle, sending her dogs leaping to the other building and prompting them to rip as much flesh from the clone as they could. Flesh that grew back almost faster than they could tear out.

"Hookwolf, get under her and spring her up as high as possible. Glory Girl, you and me will grab it and fly. Uber, tell them we're going up!" She continued.

Hookwolf pounced across the gap, coiling his metallic body around and under the mass of flesh. The metal grew and compounded beneath the clone for a few seconds before abruptly exploding upwards, launching the clone a dozen feet into the air.

Glory Girl flew up to catch the monster, followed closely by the screeching form of a Cornix Canor. They gripped at the flesh as tightly as they could, talons digging into the flesh while fists pounded it back wherever it tried to squirm free.

As the pair started their ascent, Uber tapped the side of his helmet twice, sending a pair of clicks through his radio.

Glory Girl and the Composer flew upwards as swiftly as they could, crossing dozens of feet almost every other second.

Finally, they halted once the cityscape was but a quilt of urban expansion beneath them.

Glory Girl swallowed heavily as she observed the static-covered... _thing_ that the gargantuan bird was clutching. "You think we're high enough?"

The Composer shrugged helplessly from atop her mount. "Hell if I know. I just hope that we are, because if this thing does what it's planning to do, then we are _thoroughly-WOAH!"_

"HOLY SHIT!"

The pair let out cries of shock and surprise when a pillar of searing hot, volatile energy lanced up from somewhere in the city and shot straight through the clone, leaving a hole directly through it whose edges were glowing red and seared shut from the intensity of the attack. There was only a second of peace before over a dozen similar shots systematically, unerringly and utterly devastated the clone. When all was said and done, the scant few smoking bits of flesh that remained tumbled out of the giant noise's claws towards the earth.

They did not move again.

Both the Composer and Glory Girl stared at where the monstrosity had been seconds earlier until one of them managed to speak.

"Pardon my french..." The superheroine whispered. "But what in the everloving _fuck_ was that?"

 **-o-**

Victor and Miss Militia sighed simultaneously as they leaned back.

"Thank god..." Miss Militia breathed.

"Tell me about it." Victor nodded jerkily. "I am _never_ going skeet shooting again for as long as I live..."

"Yeah, yeah, that's great and all..." Trainwreck rumbled through his armor. "But now would ya mind _getting the fuck off of me before I toss you the fuck off!?"_

"Gah!"

"Alright, alright, keep calm!"

The hero and villain hastily scrambled off of Trainwreck's back, stepping away from the mechanical behemoth as he got up from his hands and knees and rolled his shoulders, the weapon he was sporting shifting around minutely.

The rail-cannon had been altered, moved from being positioned on his shoulder to the middle of his back. The prongs doubled in length, joined by an additional pair rotated at a ninety degree angle to form a square of somewhat ragged metal, electricity occasionally sparking between the tines, and the base itself at least fifty percent bigger and thoroughly stabilized.

"Still..." The solo villain grunted. "The position might have been embarrassing as all hell and the gun might be a helluva drain, but it's still pretty sweet... I'm gonna take a flying guess and say that you heroes aren't lettin' me walk out of here with it under any circumstances, huh?"

"What was your first guess?" Assault deadpanned. "The fact that it managed to shred that thing a quarter mile away and up or that it took two different Tinkers to make it?"

"Three, fucker. I made this suit and cannon with goddamn _scraps."_

"But still." Leet spoke up wearily from on top of his mecha. "There's another reason why you won't be able to take it."

"Huh?" Trainwreck blinked at him. "What?"

"Those two fired about a dozen shots, so three... two.. one..."

The souped-up rail cannon practically imploded, its casing crumpling under its own weight and one of its tacked-on tines falling off entirely.

"Holy fucks!" Squealer swore, jerking backwards unsteadily. "The fuck was that, dumbass?! I didn't see you put in no fucking self-destruct when I was working on the damn stabi-whatsits!"

"That's because I didn't." Leet deadpanned. "That was my third high-precision and impact energy weapon. The fact that it was centered around electromagnets helped, but frankly? That it lasted as long as it did was nothing short of a miracle. You have _no_ idea how glad I was when those two figured out how to no-scope using Othala's stuff."

"Speaking of these 'gifts'..." Miss Militia rubbed her forearm over her eyes. "Mind telling me when I can expect this to go away? It was useful in the moment but..."

"Two minutes." Victor cut Othala off the second she started to speak. "Give or take."

"Yeesh..." Gangsta whistled. "Enhanced eyesight, future-vision, is there _anything_ that you can't give?"

"Actually!" South spoke up hastily as he noticed the other Empire capes present eyeing the mouthy Reaper. "How about none of you respond to that question in any way and we can all leave here in a civil manner, alright?" He punctuated the statement with a swift rack of his shotgun.

Victor shrugged and raised his hands in surrender. "Fair enough."

Gangsta looked at South with visible awe. "That... was badass."

"I'm from Texas." The large Reaper shrugged. "Any good Texan barkeeper worth their salt's learned how to keep the peace, someway somehow, sooner or later."

"Anyways..." Grue coughed into his fist as he watched the Blasters and armored vehicles continue to lay hellfire into the pit, the beast below not even remotely sated as it continued to shriek and rage furiously. The battle had taken its toll on their surroundings: the very foundation of the street was messily cracked, and the buildings were starting to become unstable. As such, the Parahumans had elected to move down to street-level for the time being. "What do we do now? I don't want to test my luck on how long we can keep this thing down there. Does anyone know how long it'll be until Armsmaster gets here?"

"It should be any second now, if Tattletale was right when all this started..." Faultline checked her watch. "Still... are we sure that whatever he has with him will be enough?"

"Oh yeah, it will, don't worry..." Tattletale moaned from where she was sitting, slumped against a streetlamp as she idly massaged her pounding temples. "It _definitely_ will. No way in hell she'll be able to bounce back. He was saving it for an Endbringer. Look at the bright side: technically, he's using it for what he intende-"

"GOBS TOPSIDE!" The Parahumans jumped in shock when Trickster suddenly started shouting at the top of his lungs. "TOPSIDE! GOBS TOP-MMPH!" Anything more he was about to say was cut off by Oni Lee warping in front of him and shoving his hand in his mouth.

"Why didn't anyone gag him again?" Grunge demanded irritably.

"I think that we were all trying to forget about him..." Battery admitted before looking at Ballistic. "What did he mean by 'gobs topside'?"

The ex-Traveller shrugged flatly. "Hell if I know. It's just a code-phrase that we all used back during our gaming days. We used it to indicate the-!" He choked off and his stance became rife with horror. "The location... of enemies..." He breathed slowly.

Victor's head suddenly snapped up. "MOVE! NOW!" He bellowed.

The warning came too late. Before anyone could react, a small but fast tentacle whipped out over the edge of the pit, beelining directly towards Tattletale, who could only stare at the limb in abject terror.

SCHINK!

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

Tattletale shuddered in horror as she stared at the tentacle flicking and grasping at the air inches from her face. The only thing keeping her from a slow and no doubt gruesome fate was a blade of stainless steel protruding from Kaiser's gauntlet rammed through the skin and muscle of the tentacle.

"Is that _really_ the best you have?" Kaiser drawled in a bored manner.

Noelle's response came in the form of the tentacle twisting to the side and firmly wrapping itself up along his arm.

The nazi-leader's eyes shot wide beneath his mask. "Oh _son of a-!"_ That was all he got out before he was suddenly yanked off his feet and dragged towards the pit.

"KAISER!" Stormtiger yelled. The aerokinetic moved to send a wave of air at the tentacle, but was forced to redirect the attack when a small forest of tentacles rose up and redoubled their assaults.

The attack was so violent and so sudden that none of the other Parahumans or Reapers were able to react appropriately and liberate Kaiser. Luckily, the amount of movement and activity cluttering the air prevented Noelle from simply lifting Kaiser up and whipping him into the pit, forcing her to drag him along the ground.

About half a dozen feet from the edge, Kaiser finally got his wits about him. Reacting entirely on instinct, he brought up a pair of metal plates in front of his feet upon which to brace himself and a blade from his free hand which he stabbed into a crack in the ground. The resistance served to halt his forward momentum... for all of a moment, until he felt what little remained of the stone beneath him shift and give minutely, and his body burn and scream with pain.

Kaiser winced and gasped as he fought to keep himself in place. Anything to stay alive. Anything to keep out of the pit and away from the monster.

In a single, earth-shattering, heart-dropping moment, he felt the plates snap beneath his feet.

VROOM!

THUNK!

 **"GROOOAAAR!"**

Suddenly, Kaiser felt the grip on his leg go free and felt a large hand grip his shoulder, yank him to his feet, and drag him away from the pit faster than humanly possible.

Finally, as swiftly as the madness had started, it subsided, the Parahumans severing and beating back Noelle's limbs.

Kaiser gasped in relief as he was hauled to his feet, blindly reaching out and grasping the shoulder of his savior. "T-thank you..." He wheezed. "How can I repay-?"

"Don't mention it."

"No, no..." Kaiser shook his head flatly. "This is... a matter of honor, I need to do somet-"

He was interrupted by a solid grip on his chestplate yanking him around and bringing him within inches of Armsmaster's visor. " _Ever."_

Kaiser stared at the hero mutely for a moment before nodding firmly. "I fully support that course of action."

"Good." Armsmaster released the supervillain and lightly shoved him back from his motorcycle.

Kaiser made a show of wiping off his armor before addressing the hero. "So, the weapon you went to retrieve?"

Armsmaster nodded and hit a button on his bike's handlebars, causing a compartment to open in front of him, from which he retrieved a softball-sized sphere of metal. "Right here."

"Oh good..." Tattletale breathed in relief. "You got-!"

"If you say 'the thing', I will frogmarch you to the Birdcage and personally introduce you to your cellmate." Armsmaster deadpanned.

Tattletale grinned nervously in response, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Armsmaster was a little more than half-serious.

"So what the hell is our current saving grace, anyways?" Newter asked bluntly as he looked at the device.

"It's a bomb." Armsmaster stated bluntly.

"There is no way in hell that bomb will be able to take her out." Chicago deadpanned.

"It's one of _Bakuda's_ bombs." He clarified flatly.

"There is a very fair chance that bomb will be able to take her out." Chicago deadpanned.

"There's just one problem." Armsmaster went on.

"Of course there is!" Grunge exclaimed, swinging his arms wide.

"The bomb's detonation isn't instant. All I could manage was to reconfigure it to activate ten seconds after manual activation. And for maximum impact, it'll have to detonate at practically point-blank range."

"Ten seconds..." Ballistic swallowed uncomfortably. "Noelle's reaction time is less than one, snap judgements and decisions. She could catch it and toss it out."

"What if Othala gives me advanced reflexes?" Victor offered. "Tinker powers naturally amp intelligence. I sap some of it, calculate the angle and timing; my curveball was mean even before I triggered."

"Or me, boss." Velocity zipped up next to Armsmaster in a blur of red. "Believe you me, we speedsters have timing down pat. I could get it in and out before she knew what hit her."

Psycho and Oni Lee warped into existence, both with a hand outstretched.

Armsmaster frowned and shook his head definitively. "No. Detonation might not be instant, but the effect is. We don't have any room for error. If you're caught within a thirty foot radius of this thing... you'll either be dead or sorely wish it. And that's not even mentioning that we only have one shot at this."

"We need to find some way to trick her, phase her, put her off her game, ensure she doesn't react in time..." Brandish reasoned.

"How do we put _that!"_ Grunge indicated the roaring, snarling demon. "Off its game!?"

"What if we had a flier take the bomb up and drop it at the right time?" Grue offered.

"Or we could feed it to one of our bigger Noise!" Hip suggested, summoning up a Grunge Wolf.

"She's been having fun swallowing them up to now, why not turn it against her?" Hop snarled defiantly.

Armsmaster shook his head. "There's still no guarantee that-HEY!" He was cut off by a large limb of garbage snatching the bomb from his hand. "Mush! Give it back, now!"

"Listen to the pig, fuckbucket!" Skidmark ordered.

Mush ignored them both, numbly looking over the device. "How do I turn this thing on?" He mumbled out through his armor.

"There's no way I'll tell you-!"

"TWIST IT!" Tattletale shrieked, visibly clutching her head. "TWIST THE TOP AND BOTTOM HALVES IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS AND PUSH THEM TOGETHER!"

Mush's limbs immediately did so, causing a red light to shine from the device's hemisphere. In the same instant, he brought Trickster up from the portion of his mass where he'd been imprisoned, yanked the front of his shirt forwards and shoved the bomb down his collar. Then, he hauled his arm back and _heaved_ , flinging Trickster through the air and into the pit.

The Parahumans stared at the display in shock for a moment until Grunge got his wits back. "FALL BACK!" He bellowed, his voice not even brooking a hint of argument as he started to run as fast as his feet could carry him. "EVERYONE HAUL ASS, _NOW!"_

The rest were all too happy to comply, Squealer's vehicle and Leet's mecha shaking the earth as they rumbled away from the blast zone, followed closely by a small crowd both on foot and in the air alike.

 **-o-**

 **Rip. Maim. Kill. Consume. Vengeance. Hate. HATE. _HA-!_**

THUMP! "GAH!"

Noelle was yanked out of her reverie by a weight suddenly slamming into her main body, a familiar voice crying out in shock. Acting on base instinct, Noelle clutched at the projectile and tried to get a better look at it. "Krouse?" She breathed in shock.

Krouse stopped struggling and stared at her numbly. "Noelle?"

The seconds stretched into eternity as they stared at one another.

Fortunately or unfortunately for them... even eternity had to come to an end.

 **-o-**

There wasn't any noise when it happened. No detonation in any meaningful way, no grand, earth-shattering explosion. If anything, the greatest sign of the bomb activating... was the _removal_ of a factor.

After so much fighting, so much struggling, the greatest shock to all present which stopped them in their tracks... was the silence.

It all stopped, all at once. The shaking, the roaring and howling, the chaos, all of it. It just... stopped.

Slowly, the Parahumans turned around... and stared.

A bubble of what appeared to be amber encased where they had all been mere seconds ago. The area was see-through, if a little foggy. Everything within its confines, the tentacles, the few Twisted Noise that hadn't been killed, all of it. They were all... stopped. Suspended.

The Parahumans barely acknowledged the return of the Composer and the rest of her group. They silently joined their comrades in observing the edifice before them.

Faultline was the first to speak. "Is there any chance of that... _thing_ digging itself out?"

Armsmaster shook his head slowly. "None. That's not really matter, per say. That was a time bomb, or the closest thing to it in existence. Essentially, it replicated Clockblocker's ability within an area-of-effect, save that as far as Dragon or I can tell, it's permanent. If it ever does come undone, I can assure you that it won't be during our lifetime, or during that of generations to come."

Silence stretched on for a moment until the Composer spoke up. "So... it's over?"

"Hang on..." Chicago dug his phone out of his pocket, tapped a number and brought it to his ear. "Freestyle. We're fine, the situation's been dealt with. What's your status?"

 **-o-**

The Parahuman Reaper shrugged as she toyed with her veil. "Things are moving along just fine, Chicago. Tattletale's information was good, we managed to find the safe houses without trouble and catch the majority of them with their pants down. I 'convinced' each of them to tell us the truth and they all admitted to working for Coil. We're on the last half-dozen or so, so- oh for the love of- one second!" She cut herself off in exasperation when the sound of scuffling broke out behind her. "Could you please shut them up?!" She shot over her shoulder.

Anarcho grunted in response, reeling back and ramming the butt of his paintball gun into the face of the struggling mercenary he was trying to restrain, while a woman in valkyrie armor expertly swung her spear around and clubbed another soldier in the back of his head.

"Thank you!" Freestyle sighed, receiving nods of acknowledgement from Anarcho and Menja before turning . "Anyways, we're all good here. We'll finish up here and call you we're done"

 _"Good."_

 **-o-**

Chicago hung up and raised a shaky thumbs-up.

Tattletale sluggishly gave a single nod. "Yeah. It's over."

"Good." And with that, the Composer proceeded to keel over and collapse onto her back.

The rest of the group looked at her in shock for a moment, but none voiced any concern or shock as they too realized just how tired they were and collapsed in turn, several fliers outright letting themselves drop out of the air once they were a few feet away from bliss.

And so it was that the vast majority of the Parahuman population of Brockton Bay, from the all-powerful Kaiser and Armsmaster to the lowly Skidmark and Leet, came to find itself on the same street, at the same time, lying prone on the ground as they tried to regain their breaths and feel anything, _anything_ other than sheer exhaustion.

For all of ten seconds, the only sound was everyone's collective breathing. Then... laughter.

Later, no one would be able to say who started first. All they knew was that someone started to laugh. A small, dry, relieved chuckle at most. Then another person started to laugh. And another and another, each with more and more and more force than the last until finally, everyone in the street, hero, villain, mercenary and Reaper alike, was just laughing and laughing and laughing their heads off.

Laughing at what they'd just lived through. Laughing at the fact that they'd survived. Laughing from the sheer, irrepressible joy of simply being _alive._

They were still laughing when Panacea, Dauntless, Cricket, Night and Fog arrived, resulting in the group staring at the sight in awe.

"Uhh... this is..." Dauntless idly scratched his head through his helmet.

"What the hell happened here!?" Panacea sputtered in disbelief.

"Oh, that's an easy one." Tattletale hummed airily, striding up to the healer with her fingers interlocked behind her head. "It's the adrenaline streaming out of them. They're giddy at the fact that they all just not only survived but actually beat a borderline S-class threat. All with no friendly casualties. You've gotta admit, this is kind of... unprecedented. 'Course, it was really my plans that saved the day, so it's not that much of a shocker, is it?"

Panacea eyed the Thinker warily. "Tattletale... you've been using your powers all day, right?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Then... why aren't you cussing from the 'unholy headaches' you told me about?"

"Oh, that's an easy one!" Tattletale smiled drunkenly as she started to slightly sway on her feet. "Adrenaline! Lots and lots of adrenaline! I've been ignoring it for the past five minutes or so! Of course, that means that I'm going to blackout in approximately five seconds when it burns out of my system, but hey, whatever." The blood suddenly drained out of her face and her expression went slack. "And there it goes. Night ni-huh?"

She was cut off by Panacea tapping her on the forehead, square in the middle of her brow. Tattletale blinked numbly for a second before beaming and engulfing the healer in a rib-cracking hug. "Thankyouthanktyouthankyou _thankyou!"_

"No problem..." Panacea wheezed, her voice mostly unimpeded due to the fact that she was used to much more painful hugs from her sister.

"Pardon me, but I was under the impression that brains laid outside of your area of expertise." Night inquired in a slightly _too_ polite tone.

Panacea shrugged as much as she could in Tattletale's grip. "There aren't actually any nerve endings inside the brain. All I did was alleviate the pressure in her head's blood vessels."

"And I am _soooo_ grateful for that!" Tattletale... she would later vehemently deny it, but everyone else would say that she squealed.

Eventually, the surviving Parahumans' laughter subsided, leaving everyone fighting to regain their breath once anew.

"So..." Skidmark was the first to speak, jabbing his thumb out of Squealer's truck at Mush, where the rest of the Travelers were still held. "The fucking hell do we do with the rest of 'em?"

"For the record!" Ballistic hastily raised a hand. "The Travelers are pretty much disbanded. Me, Sundancer, Genesis and Oliver, we mainly stuck under Krouse for Noelle's sake. But now that that's been shot to hell... look, we don't want any trouble, alright?"

A minute amount of tension appeared as the rest of the Parahumans considered the statement before South spoke up. "Bah, c'mon! They're just kids. The worst of the stuff they did, they did under either Trickster or Coil's orders for their friend's sake. Cut them some slack, would ya?"

The others considered this for a moment before giving signs of assent with varying amounts of actual agreement.

"So what the heck are you guys going to do now?" Regent snidely inquired. "I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't think that there's a high demand for ex-supervillains at Fugly Bob's."

Ballistic shook his head indifferently. "Hell if I know. Bounty-hunting, maybe? My powers are good in a fight, so am I, so what the hell, why not?"

"Or!" Assault piped up. "Less suicidal option! How about you join the Protectorate? It worked well for me!"

"Assault!" Battery hissed, but was cut off by several of the villains busting out in uproarious laughter.

"I _told_ you fuckers it was him, I fucking _told_ you!" Skidmark howled.

"Madcap, you son of a bitch, we missed you back up in Brooklyn!" Stormtiger laughed.

"Do not worry, we will not tell anyone." Gregor chuckled. "Assault's old identity was an unconfirmed secret that many of us suspected, we will not betray our old comrade."

"Ah, you old shitsacks." Assault smirked before clapping Ballistic on his back. "But anyways, yeah! Better job security, good pay, the works! You'll just need to play it safe for a bit, bite your tongue about whatever stupid name, costume and restrictions they slap you with and you'll be golden!"

"Assaut, you don't have the authority-!"

"Armsmaster..." Hannah groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I respect you as a friend and a leader, but please, just this once, no matter how much these words might terrify me? Leave this to Assault."

Ballistic considered the words for a moment before slowly nodding. "Well... alright then. Protectorate it is, I guess."

"Sweet!" Assault grinned and laughed as he clapped his hands together before looking around. "Any other takers? Free passes for all, today only! Spend the rest of your years playing puppet for the man and saving kittens from trees!"

A half-heartedly thrown rock bounced off of Assault's head. "Fuck you!" Someone laughed good-heartedly.

"Fuck you too, random villain!" Assault replied equally jovially.

"Well, that's me then." Ballistic mused. before looking over at his old friends. "What about the rest of you?"

Sundancer searched for something to say for a moment before sighing and hanging her head. "Would you believe... that all I've wanted in life is to be a dancer? Of course, all chances of that were shot to hell when I got these powers..."

She looked up when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, blinking at the Composer who was obviously smiling kindly beneath her hood. "You still can, you know?" She said quietly. "The Reapers support all the liberal arts. Dancing is definitely one of them. I bet that Freestyle would be honored to have you dance to her music, and I can think of plenty of Reapers who'd adore all-natural lighting on demand for their works."

The way that Sundancer's face went from contemplation to joy was answer enough. The Composer then addressed Genesis. "What about you? Your constructs, do you imagine them yourself?"

Genesis bit her lip before nodding hesitantly.

"Well, they're good. _Very_ good. More than a few of the more abstract-oriented Reapers have wanted to speak with you for a good while now. I'm sure you'd get along famously."

Genesis looked up at her silently before shrugging slightly. "I... want some time to think."

The Composer nodded in acknowledgment. The glance she cast at Sundancer was answer enough.

"What about you, beefcake?" Gangsta purred at Oliver. "Do you have any powers, or are you just really good at looking haw-OWCH!" She was cut off by Grue grabbing her ear and twisting it imperiously.

"Er..." Oliver grinned nervously. "Actually, it kind of _is_ my power. I-I'm a Stranger. Far as we can tell, I change to look like whatever my idea of attractive is. Not all that usef-"

"You work for me now."

"-huh?" Oliver was cut off by Chicago placing his hand on his shoulder and interrupting him. "Um... that's a generous offer, but can I think it over for a- GRK!" He hissed in pain and minute panic when Chicago's grip became noticeably tighter.

 _"You work for me now."_ Chicago repeated firmly.

"Kid, if you wanna keep that arm, you'll acknowledge the facts as they are. He won't stop pestering you otherwise." Grunge warned.

"...okay..." Oliver swallowed nervously.

"Good man." Chicago clapped him on his shoulder jovially. "We'll discuss your payment at a later date.

"Well, that's over and done with." Lady Photon sighed wearily. "So... what now?"

"I dunno..." Purity shrugged before frowning. "... what _time_ is it, anyways?"

"Um..." Faultline brought her wrist up above her head and glanced at her watch before groaning and slamming her head back against the pavement. "Mother of god, it's _noon."_

Cries of protest and moans of denial rang out from the group.

"You _can't_ be serious!" Velocity whined.

"You mean this whole thing took us _three hours?!"_ Regent demanded. "How the fuck is that even possible!?"

"Well, let's see..." Tattletale started counting off on her fingers. "Coil dropped his little PR bomb at nine, took an hour to round everyone up and plan everything out, a little over an hour and a half to get in position and raid Coil's bases, and we've been fighting Noelle for the past half hour, so... yeah. Noon. Which... is pretty fucking unbelievable, I'll admit."

A stunned silence reigned over the group for a moment before South looked up and down the street, narrowing his eyes at the nearest intersection. "Hey, Boss? We're on Churchtown. Isn't that...?"

"Yeah, it is. I see what you're getting at." The Composer nodded in agreement before clapping her hands to draw attention to herself. "Alright everyone, listen up! We're currently a few blocks away from one of my gang's bases. We call it the Gallery. We have plenty of supplies there with which we can treat any wounds and start to recuperate. As such, I propose this: we go there, we open the emergency supplies, and those of us who can get _blind. Fucking. Drunk._ Then, once we're all nice and hammered, me, Armsmaster, Lady Photon, Kaiser, Skidmark, Faultline and Grue will sit down, talk, and come to an ironclad agreement so that we can make sure that nothing even remotely like this _ever happens again._ All in favor?"

"...very well."

"I can stand behind this course of action."

"Sounds fine to me."

"I think we can come to an understanding."

"Eh, fuck it. If there's booze, I'm in."

"Let's do it."

"Perfect!" The Composer waved her hand as she started to walk. "Follow me."

There were a few tired groans, but slowly and surely, the other Parahumans and Reapers got to her feet and followed behind her, the Tinkers with vehicles putting them into the closest things they had to a slow drive.

Armsmaster stepped up to the Composer, wheeling his bike along. "Do you actually think this peace will last?" He asked frankly. "Do you _actually_ think that you stand a chance at brokering some kind of truce in one of the worst Parahuman cities on the Eastern Seaboard?"

The Composer was silent for a moment, glancing over her shoulder as they walked, observing the different individuals, tired and weary as they were, heroes and villains, white, black and asian alike, all standing together, speaking and laughing with one another casually.

Finally, she nodded definitively. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I actually can."

Armsmaster stared at her quietly before looking ahead. "Then we'd better make this stick."

The Composer nodded again. "Damn straight. Damn straight..."

 **-o-**

 _"Director Piggot? The Protectorate team has returned. You're... going to want to see this."_

The second she received the call, Director Piggot hauled herself out of her seat and marched out of her office, flanked by two PRT officers. She marched swiftly and sternly through the halls of the PRT Headquarters, and within minutes caught sight of her subordinates.

The sight before her instantaneously floored her.

Dauntless was stumbling down the hall, various colorful designs painted across his armor. "G'afternoon, D'rector Piggot..." He slurred, drunkenly saluting her.

Velocity staggered along, occasionally speeding into a blur and ramming into the wall. "'ftetrnoon, 'rector..." He hiccuped.

Battery was slumped forwards as she trudged down the hall, dragging Assault behind her by his foot. "Director." She sighed heavily as she gave her a lazy, two fingered salute.

"Heeeeey, Piggy!" Assault snickered, ignoring the tired kick Triumph delivered to his head.

"Director Piggot." The lion-headed hero nodded, a yawn evident in his voice.

Piggot finally managed to regain her voice when an equally disheveled Miss Militia and Armsmaster stepped up before her and rose their hands into firm salutes.

"East-North-East Protectorate, reporting for duty, ma'am." They chorused wearily.

At last, Piggot got her wits about her and managed to respond. "Where the _hell_ have you been!?" She demanded indignantly. "First the entire local Protectorate up and abandons their posts simultaneously, then we get reports of some kind of madness going on Downtown, _then_ the Endbringer Alarms start ringing without warning, and when everyone finally leaves the shelters we find a good strip of the city in ruin, a _monster_ imprisoned in what _you!"_ She jabbed her finger at Armsmaster. "Reported as the effect of one of Bakuda's bombs you were repurposing, and not a soul to be found! Can you even _begin_ to explain yourselves!?"

Armsmaster and Miss Militia slowly looked at one another before looking back. "Director-" Miss Militia started slowly.

"Director Piggot." Armsmaster interrupted, cutting his friend off. "I want you to know that I hold the utmost respect for you as my superior and for the sacrifices you made in the name of keeping the peace in Ellisburg."

Director Piggot blinked in confusion. "What does that have to-?"

"That being said," Armsmaster forged on. "The fact of the matter is that neither I, Miss Militia, or _any_ of my team for that matter, is in any state to be giving you a report. Now, I promise you that once we have a chance to rest and relax, I will _personally_ report each and every last detail of today's events to you. But if you try and make us do anything, and I mean _anything,_ before 8 A.M.? Then ma'am, I'm sorry, but frankly, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Piggot sputtered in disbelief. "Wh- eight- _it's three in the afternoon!"_

"That only serves to emphasize just how incredibly generous I'm being with you." Armsmaster deadpanned.

Director Piggot searched for something to say, but before she could, Miss Militia quickly spoke up. "Emily," She pleaded. "We have had a _hell_ of a day, the kind you can't even begin to imagine. Just... all I want to do at the moment is sleep and never wake up. Just give us that, and we'll tell you everything, I promise."

The Director stared at the heroes silently for a moment before stiffening as an all too familiar smell hit her nostrils. "Have you two been drinking!?" She demanded before realizing that they weren't the only ones who'd reeked. "Have you _all_ been drinking!?"

"Not even remotely close to enough, I assure you..." Miss Militia groaned.

"For the record, Triumph didn't have any on account of his age, though he _did_ ingest an obscene amount of root beer." Armsmaster noted.

Piggot worked her jaw for a moment before flinging her arms up in defeat. "Fuck it. Fuck it! I'll have your pays halved and each and every one of you put on the worst shit duties I can think of for the foreseeable future, but you know what? If you want to sleep? Fine. Go to fucking sleep. Just... get out of my face."

"Thank you, Director Piggot." The heroes chorused as they continued past her.

"If any villains raise any trouble while you're having your little naps, it'll be on _all_ of your heads!" She called after them.

"Don't worry, they won't." Armsmaster called back before rounding the corner.

Piggot huffed furiously for a moment before pinning one of her bodyguards with a glare. "Call Doctor Farmton. I want to know _exactly_ how much alcohol I can drink before I die. I don't care if it's a tiny paper cup, _just get me a damn drink."_

 **-o-**

"Gah, fuck fuck fuck fuck, c'mon, c'mon..." Skidmark hissed, rummaging through the pigsty that was his flat. He tossed around restlessly, flinging clothes and belongings this way and that without a care in the world, occasionally flashing up a field of momentum-shifting energy in an effort to sift through the mess and find his objective.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck _FUCK! COME ON!"_ He roared, finally losing his temper and flipping the sole table he had on its side. Skidmark stood there, huffing furiously for a moment before heavily sitting on his bad, elbows resting on his knees as he cradled his head.

"Fuck, come on..." Skidmark moaned. He remained like that for a moment before slowly lifting his head and staring at the needle he was clutching. His eyes wandered around his room, lingering on his discarded and, frankly, rancid clothing.

Maybe if he tore one of them up? Got a nice, long strip, wrapped it and tied it up nice and tight and... and...

And...

Skidmark scowled and shook his head. "Fuck this..." He growled, raising his arm and stabbing the needle into the leg of his bed, where he left it dangling precariously. "I'll find the fucking rope when I'm not so fucking tired... For now... gugh... what a fucking day..."

And with that, the leader of the Merchants flopped backwards, laying on his ratty, dilapidated mattress.

Moments later, his snores filled the flat.

 **-o-**

 **Brrnnnnng, brrnnn-CLICK!**

"Mmmyeeeah?"

 _"Taylor? Taylor, sweety, are you fine!? You're safe? You're fi-?"_

"Mmm... Daaad... M'fine... just... c'ld yu be a bit more _quiet_ , pleeease?"

 _"Oh thank god... Taylor, where the hell were you!? First I got a call about you disappearing from school, then the alarms and-!"_

"Dad, dad... m'fine... fine... S'ry 'bout school, but it was an em'rgency... Brian... ya know, Aisha's goo' lookin' brother? He needed a witness to help his case. Ya know, 'bout gettin' custody? R'ly last minute stuff... 'nyways, she got me out, br'ght me over there... had to do a lot of paperw'rk, speak to a lot of peeple... but they won... ain't that great dad? They won! Yippee..."

 _"Well... that_ is _great, I'll admit. Brian's a good man, I'm happy for him. I-I'll see about arranging a barbeque or something to celebrate, get everyone together."_

"Yaaay..."

 _"But Taylor, the alarms, even if they were a dud-!"_

"I was fiiiine, dad, fiiiine. Streets were clogged so we... had to run... Aaaaahhh... about ten blocks to the Wilkins bunker... stayed there the ent're time... then... ran straight back home..."

 _"The Wilkins bunker!? Taylor, that's halfway across town!"_

"Uh huh... 's why I'm so tired... buuuh don't worry... I stayed to the Emp're territories... they're bastards... but they're white lovin' bastards... an' I'm white, so it's all good, right...?"

 _"... I really want to fault that logic, I_ really _do. But... still... so long as you're safe... you're entirely sure you're fine, Taylor?"_

"..."

 _"Taylor?"_

"Zzzz... snrkt... zzzz..."

 _"... sleep well, Taylor."_

 **CLICK!**


	21. Allegro 6

**Allegro 6**

For once, it was a beautiful day in Brockton Bay.

The sun was shining, a cool salty breeze was wafting in from the Atlantic, and the Boardwalk was bustling with the majority of the Bay's tourist population and the teenagers who were let loose from school for the weekend.

Most residents of the Bay would have been happy for such a day after the madness that had preceded it.

Taylor Hebert groaned miserably as she tugged the hood of her hoodie down over her eyes, trying to block out the (in her opinion) glaring sunlight.

She was not one of those residents.

Instead, Taylor was exhausted. There were a number of factors that were contributing to her mood.

The primary one was the drastic shift in the balance of the city's underworld. While Empire Eighty-Eight hadn't completely collapsed from the blow that Coil had dealt to them, they _had_ been severely injured by the loss of the main source of their finances that was Medhall. As a result, they'd been forced to relinquish a majority of the ex-ABB territory they'd seized and instead concentrate on reinforcing the grip they still maintained in Downtown.

Even then, the Empire _had_ lost one of their more powerful and prominent members. It was hard to say what part of the affair stood out more: That Carol Dallon decided to represent even _one_ side of the clash in the renowned custody battle case that would come to be known as Anders v. Anders, _or_ that the victorious Kayden Anders chose to join and was accepted into New Wave as a result.

In a perfect world, Crusader, Night and Fog would have left the Empire alongside her once anew.

In _this_ world, they had a rather public and violent falling out that resulted in the vicious trio remaining by Kaiser's side and left Purity doing a _lot_ of community service.

But that was all but one portion of the equation. Another part entirely was composed of the Merchants. They too had changed over the course of the past two weeks. No longer were they... well, to be fair, they _were_ still the scum of the earth. But now they were a _changed_ scum. For whatever reason, the Merchants ranks had become ever so slightly more refined. Less users on the job, less random junkies and hobos, better quality of merchandise and clientele. In most other groups, such a minor positive shift would have been unnoticeable, but in comparison to what they once were? It was a marked improvement. Marked enough that what once was a meager, questionable presence evolved into one fact becoming clear: they owned the Docks. No two ways about it.

The rest of the city was, surprisingly enough, free and clear of criminal influence. Openly, at least. Beneath the surface, the Undersiders, ranks recently bolstered by Trainwreck and Circus, were silently occupying what remained of Brockton Bay. They didn't _truly_ enforce things, they didn't quite have what could be defined as rank and file, they left the law to the proper authorities.

What they _did_ do was somehow produce mercenaries and soldiers from out of nowhere to corral any gang-members that tried to majorly expand their faction's sphere of influence whenever they attempted such a feat. The conflicts were never enough to warrant a war, but they sent a clear message: this is how things are going to stay, back off.

In the grand scheme of things, their efforts were a drop in the bucket compared to the way that the Protectorate cracked down. At all times of the day, no less than three heroes could be found on the streets at once working over time. Some praised them for their renewed diligence and their effectiveness in making the streets safer. A few others wondered why they didn't seem to be doing much else apart from patrolling and presumably sleeping. Grunge had passed on hearing a few rumors about Assault moaning about 'slave wages'.

Either way, that was how things stayed. The Empire and Merchants kept to themselves, the Undersiders threw their newfound weight around, ran a few heists now and then and kept the peace, the Protectorate marched through the streets like conquering heroes, Faultline and her crew came and went at their own liberty after an extended period of absence where upon their return they brought with them a new colleague by the name of Shamrock, Uber and Leet put on a show from time to time with varying degrees of success, and the Reapers...

Actually, not much had changed for the Reapers apart from the fact that they now went out of their way to stop whatever petty crime they came across and protected civilians from the crossfire of conflicts. Other than that, they did what they wanted, where they wanted, and no one did much about it.

All in all, the readjustment period had been _grueling,_ fraught with meetings between the villains and otherwise in order to ensure that nothing boiled over, but the results spoke for themselves: peace. A relative peace, but peace nonetheless.

Taylor moaned under her breath as she rolled her aching shoulders. A peace that left no room for the wicked and weary, at least.

Following the fight with Coil, the Reapers had doubled down on any existing efforts to improve themselves so that they would be better prepared for conflicts in the future. These preparations included shooting lessons with their paintball guns courtesy of Anarcho and Chicago, quick-thinking and creative fighting via Gangsta, Hip and Hop and...

Taylor felt a shudder run the course of her body.

Exercise under Grunge.

 _"Alright, everyone, are we ready to start?"_

 _"Uh, yeah, one question? Why the hell do we need to wear these funky clothes!?"_

 _"Those, Gangsta, are very special motivational uniforms that I made myself!"_

 _"They fucking reek!"_

 _"That's because I covered them with aerosolized motivational steak-sauce and motivational hotdog water!"_

 _"... Grunge, not to question you or your sanity, but I can't see how this is supposed to help us exercise."_

 _"Well, of_ course _you can't, Boss! This stuff is totally useless without one_ key _factor!"_

 _"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!"_

 _"GAH!"_

 _"HOLY SHIT!"_

 _"WHAT THE HELL!"_

 _"MOTIVATIONAL ALTERNA WOLVES! WELL? ARE YOU ALL MOTIVATED YET?!"_

 _"ARE YOU_ CRAZY!?"

 _"I AIN'T THE ONE WHO HASN'T STARTED RUNNING YET! GO GIT 'EM, BOYS!"_

"WOOF!"

"AAAAAAH!"

 _"...Aaaahhh... The sweet, sweet stench of sweat, urine and fear. Smells like bootcamp!"_

Taylor ground her teeth furiously. _'Five million hits in five_ hours,' she thought murderously. _'I don't know how someone managed to edit Yakety Sax into that video and post it so fast, and honestly, I don't care. All I know is that if I_ ever _find out who 'Aluminum_Matriarch' is, I'm going to pay them back for creating 'Running of the Reapers' by reaching down their throat and-!'_

"Well well well, who do we have here?"

Taylor's already clenched hands tensed visibly as her eye twitched in response to the all too familiar voice that grated at her ears.

Slowly, Taylor turned on her heel to observe the sickeningly pleasant forms of Bitch One, Bitch Two and Bitch Three. Or, as they were officially known, Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess and Madison Clements.

Taylor let out a hiss of exasperation as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want, Barnes? In case you didn't notice, there isn't an audience for this three-ring circus of yours." She grit out tiredly.

Emma bristled at the comment, but her smile remained erroneously sweet nonetheless. "Oh, nothing in particular. I was just surprised that you actually had the guts to show your face in public is all. But, then again, I suppose I shouldn't be, considering where we are. I suppose you _would_ feel at home here, scrounging about with the other wharf rats."

Taylor cracked an eye open and shot a half-glare at her aggressor. "Humorous. _Really_ humorous. Kind of like those clothes you're wearing. I wasn't aware that Barnum and Bailey's was considered high-fashion nowadays."

Emma stared at her in numb shock for a moment scowling viciously, a slight reddish tinge coloring her features. "That circus-schtick of yours is soooo appropriate, Taylor. Fitting for a sideshow freak like you."

"At least sideshow freaks get plenty of attention." Taylor scoffed. "Your act, on the other hand, is getting _pretty_ stale. You want to know the one difference between you and most other clowns? No one is laughing to your face."

Emma gaped at Taylor like a fish out of water, but before she could formulate a reply, Sophia had stepped in front of her, snarling viciously as she clamped her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "You're talking a big game, Hebert. _Too_ big." She hissed. "Do yourself a favor and return to the position weak, spineless shits like you are supposed to be in before you get hurt."

Taylor's eye twitched momentarily before she plastered a somewhat twisted grin on her face.

"Oh, I can imagine _plenty_ of positions I could be in at the moment, _Hess."_ She leaned forwards, putting her height to use in order to effectually loom over the opposing girl. "Want me to demonstrate them? The one I'm thinking of right now involves my foot on your throat."

Sophia jerked in shock, taking an involuntary step back from her prey, but before she could formulate a response...

"Well, hello hello hello! What _do_ we have here?"

The trio and Taylor looked up at the roof where the voice had come from, catching sight of a pair of Reapers situated above them.

"Having fun there, kids? Enjoying the weekend and all that?" One of them asked innocently.

Sophia's scowl reformed in an instant as she glared up at the Reapers. "Fuck off you worthless dumb... ass..." She trailed off as a certain detail came to her attention. "Is that a video camera?" She breathed in horrified trepidation.

"Yup!" The Reaper holding the device crowed. "1080p too! Capable of rendering every inch of you and your friends' faces in _glorious_ HD! We're putting together a neato little documentary! Wanna stick around a bit longer to get more viral fame?"

Sophia's face drained of blood. She shot a final scowl at Taylor before hastily moving off into the crowd, Emma right on her heels.

Madison blinked at the turn of events, swapping her gaze between the Reapers and Taylor before giving the target of her friends' animosity an uneasy smile. "Sooo... Taylor... how's tricks?"

"Beat it, bottom-feeder." Taylor deadpanned.

"Right..." Madison grimaced as she followed Emma and Sophia at a more sedate pace.

Taylor stared after the Trio silently for a moment until her attention was diverted by the Reapers jumping down to land beside her. "Thanks for the backup, Canto. You too, Bluegrass."

"Heh, not a problem, Acoustic." The one holding the video camera dismissed.

Bluegrass stared in the direction the upper-class girls had left in. "Want us to take care of them? _Lot_ of potential for accidents out here on the Boardwalk..."

Taylor dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Nah, nah, leave them be. They're just a bunch of prissy stuck-up nobodies who aren't worth our time." She gave Bluegrass a smirk. "So, tell me... what's this I hear about you having a nasty run-in with Battery that involved three gallons of paint and a half-dozen panicked Fifenfrogs?"

Canto fell into a fit of laughter while Bluegrass blushed and angled his hat down over his eyes. "Can we talk about literally _anything_ else? Bad enough that the results of that fiasco are getting praised by so many art critics..."

"Heh, fine fine..." Taylor smirked. "So! Anybody working on any new pieces?"

"Oh!" Canto perked up. "J-Pop's setting up a concert involving lots of flying paint in Minutemen Park. She says that the pics she'll have some friends take in the crowd will be pieces of art in and of themselves. I think it's safe to say that the more of us there, the more hectic it'll be."

"Sounds like it'll be fun." The un-costumed Reaper nodded. "I'll try relaying it to the DJs if they haven't already heard. You're well connected too, right Bluegrass?"

"Heh, that I am. Both with us, _and_ with my real family." Bluegrass's smirk took on an ambitious overtone. "Which is actually something I'm going to bring up with the Composer the next chance I get!"

Taylor and Canto gave him a curious look, the prior a bit more attentive than the other. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Weeeell..." Bluegrass folded his hands behind his head. "You know how my family knows that I'm a Reaper, right?"

"Do we? Your wife makes some of the best lemonade in the whole city!" Canto crowed.

"Heh, right, right." Bluegrass smiled. "Well, either way, that includes my extended family as well. And, well, the thing is... I've got this cousin who lives down in Columbia. _Great_ artist, really good with a brush. I'm gonna ask the Composer if I can send him a few cans of Sound, I'm sure that he could do _great_ things with them."

Taylor's eyebrows shot up at the idea. One of the main rules she'd tried to enforce was that Reapers shouldn't bring their Noise Cans out of town, for risk of losing them. The last thing she wanted was for their tools to somehow wind up the streets in who-knows-whose hands doing who-knows-what who-knows-where. But... this was different... if it was just Sound... and if it was for a close relative...

"I... think the Composer'd be alright with it..." Taylor mused. "And... maybe it's time that we expanded?"

Canto blinked in surprise "What're you talking about?"

"Well..." Taylor chewed her cheek in thought. "We already have a _ton_ of Reapers in Brockton Bay... we're doing good here... maybe... what if the Composer sent out some of the more experienced Reapers with tons of cans to other cities? We... could recruit others. Set up new branches... We... we could bring our art to others."

Bluegrass beamed. "Honestly, that sounds great! I'll bring it up with the Composer as soon as I-!"

A shrill, mechanical shriek rang out from nowhere, the sound sweeping out over the city and drowning out all else.

Canto, Bluegrass, Taylor and _every_ single person on the Boardwalk froze in deeply-ingrained horror.

Slowly, Taylor drew a phone out of her, pocket, made a call and put it to her ear.

 _"It wasn't us, Boss."_

Taylor's heart nearly stopped.

"Go." She whispered under her breath.

Neither Bluegrass or Canto reacted. All they could do was stare at the stormfront on the horizon that neither had noticed until then.

Taylor snapped out of her stupor, ramming her hands into their shoulders. "GO!" She yelled. "GO! GET YOUR FAMILIES AND GET TO THE SHELTERS OR OUT OF TOWN OR _WHEREVER!_ JUST _GO!"_

Canto stared at her in shock. "Bu- Acoustic-!"

" _I SAID FUCKING GO!"_

Canto snapped a can out and sprayed some wings on, Bluegrass some kangaroo legs, and the both shot off away and out of sight.

Taylor turned her attention back to the phone. "Get word out on _every_ channel you can, get everyone out of town or into a bunker. Make sure that Waltz, Freestyle, Serenade and Dream know that I'm not obligating any of them to fight, although their participation would be greatly appreciated. After that, get the hell out of there. Something tells me that the Graveyard isn't the safest place to be at the moment."

 _"What about you, Boss?"_

"What the hell do you think?" Taylor didn't wait for a response before she hung up and redialed. "Dad, I'm on the Boardwalk. I'm safe, but it looks like Leviathan is coming in fast. I don't think that I'll make it to the Harlington bunker. I'm going to try for the one on forty-eighth street, alright?"

 _"I- wait, hang on- What if I came and picked you up!?"_

The sound of honking that started to ring out over the city hit Taylor's ears. "Not an option. Dad, we've run the drills, we know how this works. We just follow the rules and we'll be safe, alright?"

 _"I... how are you being more of an adult than me?"_

"Because somebody has to and you're acting like a little girl at the moment."

 _"... promise me you'll be safe."_

"..." Taylor swallowed heavily. "I can't do that any more than you can, and you know it."

 _"Alright. Good luck."_

"You too." And with that, Taylor hung up. She glanced around for a second until she located a nearby alleyway, which she darted into.

A few seconds later, the Composer shot out from between the rooftops like a bat out of hell, a likeness made all the more literal by the fact that she was held aloft by a pair of bat-wing-like tattoos.

If her wings likened her to a bat, then her attire covered the 'hell' part. A pitch-black heavily reinforced trench coat, tactical vest and plated boots and gloves protected her body, while her head was covered by the combination of a military helmet, a headset and a red-lensed gasmask.

All in all, the Composer didn't even remotely look like she was prepared to go to war.

She was prepared to march into the depths of hell itself.

After about a minute of flying, the Composer heard a voice above the wail of the emergency sirens. "-mposer! COMPOSER!" The Reaper flapped her wings and brought herself to a halt as she searched for the source of the voice.

When she caught sight of the speaker, she raised a hand in acknowledgement. "Aegis."

The Ward flew up next to her and nodded. "Composer. I presume you're headed for the Endbringer briefing?"

"I'm not going to Sunday Church, I can tell you that much." She responded darkly.

Aegis nodded and started headed towards Downtown. "It's being held at the PRT Headquarters. Come on, we need to get there before-!"

Whatever Aegis was about to say, it died in his throat as he stared dead ahead. The Composer followed his gaze and couldn't help but stare as well.

The skyline was dark and spotty, blemished by dozens upon dozens of flying figures moving across it, streaming towards the city. Towards a common destination.

Aegis swallowed heavily. "This... is really happening." His hands tightened into fists. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

The Composer placed her hand on the Ward's shoulder. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

Aegis stared at her forlornly for a second before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

The two set off again, following the growing mass of parahumans.

After a few minutes of swift flight, the human and pseudo-villain duo landed in the parking lot of the PRT's HQ, brushing shoulders with other parahumans who were either flying or teleporting in. The scene was one of controlled chaos, with villains and heroes skirting around one another.

The local parahuman scene was especially out in force: The Empire Eighty-Eight were milling about one another and discussing strategy, occasionally shooting acrid glares at the newly-minted Flare as she stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of New Wave.

The Merchants were congregated around one of Squealer's rides that appeared to incorporate all the best and worst parts of a snowplow and a sherman tank. Squealer was waist-deep in the monster's guts and cursing up a storm to match the one overhead, Mush was building a small titan out of the contents of a half-dozen dumpsters, and Skidmark... Skidmark was oddly quiet, content with pacing back and forth while muttering under his breath and scratching at his arms.

The Undersiders were closely huddled together near Trainwreck's mass, Tattletale speaking in rapidfire to each of them as she glanced around frequently. Uber and Leet were present as well, with Uber sporting the Ultramarine armor he'd used against Noelle and Leet desperately scrambling over the mech he'd used at the time.

Faultline and her crew were speaking with Miss Militia, until both parties seemed to reach an agreement. Speaking of the Protectorate, they were rallied around Armsmaster, who, apart from sporting two halberds at once, was speaking with other big names like Myrrdin, Chevalier and even Eidolon. Their newest member, Vector, was somewhat uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as he caught the occasional glare from other heroes, such as the members of Haven.

The Wards were standing at the ready as they awaited orders, occasionally interacting with other teams from other cities.

One such Ward, a Case 53 made entirely of metal, walked over to the Composer and Aegis.

"Aegis. Good to see you again." He greeted cordially.

"Weld." Aegis greeted in turn. "Who's with you?"

Weld shrugged. "Most of our Wards, whole of the Protectorate, and if you look over there..." Aegis pointed at a trio of primly suited capes. "You can see the welcoming party that Accord decided to have greet Leviathan."

"Are they any good?" The Composer queried.

Weld shrugged. "Citrine and Jacklight ought to be good for support, and I guess that Othello could be good for search and rescue. We'll see though." He regarded the chief Reaper. "The Composer, right? Pardon me if my intelligence is a little outdated, but last I heard you and your Reapers preferred not to fight."

The Composer made to answer, but before she could another voice cut in. "Things have changed, Mister Weld." Waltz stated firmly as she marched up to the Composer, accompanied by Freestyle in a ballroom gown with an expertly split hem, a young woman in a skin-tight flame-themed bodysuit and opera mask, a girl who was wearing a set of blue, black and silver heavy-duty pajamas, a sleeping mask and leaning on a walking cane, and several cloth golems toting a number of bolts of fabric.. "And even if they hadn't, we'd have no choice but to do our duty and fight anyways."

The Composer smiled beneath her mask and nodded at the group. "Waltz. Freestyle. Serenade. Dream. Glad to see you're with us." She cast an uneasy glance at Dream. "Are you sure you're good for this? Panacea did say that it would take-"

"Panacea opened the door for me to walk again." Dream reassured. "I can step through on my own."

"I'll stay by her, keep her body safe, don't worry." Serenade piped up.

"I'll keep close too." Freestyle added. "The best I can do is _maybe_ give some people courage with my voice anyways, so..." She shrugged.

"Er, excuse me?" Vista piped up as she walked over to the group. "I couldn't help but overhear... Do you want me to get you to a safe location? Just tell me where to go and I can get you there fast if you want."

"That'd be nice, thanks." Dream nodded.

"Either way, it doesn't matter." Weld sighed. "We're all grateful you're here. We're going to need the best of the best for this."

"Well, you're going to have to make do with us!"

The Composer went ramrod straight when a voice far too familiar for comfort hit her ears.

"Cause you see..." Gangsta grinned malevolently as she and a small army of Reapers walked into the parking lot. "We're the best that Brockton Bay has to offer."

The Composer worked her jaw wordlessly for a second until she caught sight of a pair of tech-garbed DJs. Growling furiously, she marched up to them.

"Hey Bo-URK!" DJ Synth squawked as their leader grabbed he and DJ Chiptune by their collars.

"I thought I told you two morons to tell everyone to get in the damn bunkers!" The Composer all but growled.

"W-we did, Boss!" DJ Chiptune protested hastily. "We called everyone, told them your orders-!"

"And then we all decided to ignore said orders and come here anyways." Chicago shrugged flatly as he stepped up beside the Composer. "Simple really."

The Composer stared at him flatly before closing her eyes and breathing slowly. "I'm going to say this once. And only once. Get. Out of here. _Now._ " The Composer swept her gaze over the crowd of artists. "I'm not going to have you all risk your lives!"

"Why? So, that you can do it for us?" South grunted.

"We came here to fight!" Hip proclaimed.

"And that's what we intend to do." Hop confirmed.

"We're gonna kick that scaly bastard's-GAH!" Gangsta was cut off when she was pulled to the side by an irate shadowy supervillain.

"To put things simply, ma'am." Grunge wrenched the DJs out of the Composer's hands and stood before her defiantly. "We're here, we intend to fight and die by your side, and there's absolutely _nothing_ you can do about it."

"I thought that good soldiers knew how to follow orders." The Composer spat.

"The _best_ soldiers know when to call bullshit on bullshit orders." Grunge replied evenly.

The Composer hissed through her teeth before marching up to the largest Reaper and sticking her finger in his face. "You listen to me you headstrong bear, I'm giving you a _direct_ order. Either you listen to me, or _so help me god-!"_

"Excuse me?"

"WHAT!?" The pair snarled.

Victor was unphased as he held up a small card. "I believe that this may be of use to you."

The Composer snatched the card out of his hands while the villain walked back to his group. "'Jonas Finch, Familial Relations Advocate PhD'... what the hell?"

"Ah..." Vista swallowed nervously as she tugged at the collar of her costume.

"What?"

"I... ah, Mister Finch... he's a..." The Ward looked away nervously. "Marriage counselor?"

Grunge flung his hands up in exasperation. "I'm going to kill that man."

"Save a piece for me." The Composer grit out as she crumpled the card in her fist, shooting daggers at the white supremacist.

"Hey!"

Attention was drawn to a blonde, childish individual who strutted up to the group with more arrogance than seemed possible for someone her apparent age. "You clowns aren't parahumans, right?"

"What about it?" South asked flatly.

"Then get the hell out of here!" Bambina jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "This is an _Endbringer_ fight, geniuses! Parahumans only! We don't have time to deal with worthless normals like you!"

The Composer bristled and prepared to rip into the out-of-city upstart, but before she could...

 _"HEY!"_

Most everyone jumped when Skidmark bellowed and started to march over.

"How about you do us a favor and get the fuck out of here instead, huh you little bitch?" He snarled.

Bambina gaped for a second as she tried to respond. "I- hey-!"

"Listen, fuckface!" Skidmark growled, shoving his finger in her face. "These guys, they might be powerless shitbags, but they live here and they chose to fucking show up! Now, I don't know how you fuckers do things in Vegas, but I'd rather have fuckers who I know can kick ass backing me then a worthless bouncing titless bitch like you, got it? You don't like it, then you can fuck right off. Otherwise, close your fucking mouth, and step the _fuck_ back!"

Silence.

"Well _shit."_ Gangsta stated flatly.

"Thanks... Skidmark?" The Composer offered slowly.

"No problem." He grunted.

Grunge was the first to get his wits about him. "Composer." He stated. "This is our home, this is our fight. We have every last drop of Noise to be had in the entire city with us. We're ready to fight. We know the risks and we're willing to face them. You are _not_ going to convince us otherwise. Got it?"

The Composer stared at him and the rest of the Reapers flatly before sighing heavily. "If you're willing... then fine."

"Excuse me."

The Composer looked at the new speaker... and promptly froze.

"You're all here to fight?" Eidolon asked.

The Composer swallowed heavily before nodding jerkily.

"Good." He jerked his head at the building. "The strategy meeting is starting. Those of you who can, come inside."

As the Triumvirate member marched away, the Composer gave her Reapers a final look. "Well... this is it. You ready?"

Chicago shook his head solemnly. "There's only one possible valid answer to that: not a chance in hell."

"Good enough for me..." She waved a hand forwards. "Let's do this."

And so, the Reapers entered the building, preparing to face one of the greatest threats to humanity in generations.


	22. Allegro 7

**Allegro 7**

Othala bit her lip hesitantly as she stood apart from the flow of Parahumans entering the building.

Not ten feet away from the villainess, a dirty, haggard woman wearing an obscene amount of makeup was bent over the mechanical guts of a metallic monstrosity that could only generously be defined as a vehicle, cursing vehemently as she fumbled with her tools and worked to make the engine actually run.

Othala glanced back and forth uneasily as she opened and shut her hands. Squealer was... a degenerate, to put things lightly. She was vile, she was repulsive, she worked for one of the most repulsive examples of what the Empire fought against, she'd done every drug under the sun...

And she was a Tinker, she'd showed up to fight an Endbringer, and no matter how much Othala didn't like it, she was _white._

As such, it was with a heavy heart that Othala made the decision she did. Walking fast and concentrating on her powers, she strode towards the doors to the entrance, only just 'happening' to pass behind Squealer as she went. As she passing her by, she briefly puzzled over what the Tinker was muttering before shrugging it off. Once she was behind the Merchant, she snapped her hand out and tapped her finger against an exposed part of her thigh before accelerating, vigorously wiping her fingers against her bodysuit.

Victor cocked an eyebrow at her once she caught up with him. "Where were you off to?"

Othala shuddered in response. "If you want to maintain a healthy relationship for the foreseeable future, you won't press for an answer."

Meanwhile, Squealer's cursing had intensified as she paused in her work to clutch at her suddenly blazing cranium. She felt like someone was taking a pair of hammers to the inside of her skull. Like someone had poured molten lead in her ears, like... like-! ... Actually, she felt... pretty good, to be honest.

Squealer blinked as the haze of pain cleared out of her senses. More than good, actually. She could barely even remember the last time her thoughts had been so clear. As she scanned the engine of her vehicle, her mind instantly started making connections, improvements. Connect this there, weld that, loosen these...

Suddenly, she froze as she caught sight of something in the reflection of one of her vehicle's parts. Squealer snapped her head around and stared at the other two vehicles in the parking lot.

One of them was Leet's two-legged mech, which he was furiously trying to force to work while Uber looked on nervously. The other was Trainwreck's hulking mass, the metal-encased man grumbling darkly as he cast a wary eye at the sea of storm clouds that was choking the sky.

Squealer's head spun around as if on a greased swivel, examining both her vehicle and theirs intently while her mind flew as fast as a nitro-boosted racecar. Finally, she came to a hasty (and most likely adrenaline-driven) decision. "Hey, douchesacks!"

Leet jerked and rammed his head into the hood of his vehicle in surprise while Trainwreck cast a derisive glance at her. "What?" He grunted heavily.

"Get your rides over here, now." Squealer ordered, jerking her thumb towards her metal monstrosity.

"Oh yeah?" Leet finally managed to look at her warily. "And why should we listen to you?"

Squealer's eye twitched in impotent rage for a second before she plastered the closest approximation to a sweet smile she could muster on her face. "Because first, I said so." She drawled. "Second..." She suddenly reached back into the guts of her truck's engine and _yanked_ on a few wires, prompting a few of the cannons half-strapped-half-welded to her truck to rumble to life and point themselves at the other two villains, which caused _them_ to break out in cold sweats. "Because I'll blast your asses into the stone age if you don't. And third?"

Squealer smiled maniacally.

"I've got an idea that's going to blow that ugly mud puppy's fucking _tail_ off."

 **-o-**

Inside of the command post, the small horde of Parahumans milled about while they waited for the Triumvirate to speak. Heroes generally kept away from villains, teams tried to stick together, and teleporters regularly brought in more and more capes from just about everywhere. Through it all, everybody just tried to keep track of everybody else in particular.

Gangsta frowned as she hovered a few feet off the ground and scanned the crowd. "Hey, I can't see Trainwreck or Squealer or Uber and Leet anywhere. Didn't those guys come in?"

"I think they're staying outside with their rides. No big whoop." Chicago shrugged indifferently.

"Eh, if you say so..."

Currently, the crowd of Reapers were occupying a full corner of the building's ground floor. The Composer and her inner circle were on the edge of the group, facing the rest of the Reapers. Half a dozen Mosh Grizzlies were also present, carrying huge wooden crates under their arms.

Suddenly, the Composer drew everyone's attention to her with a sharp whistle. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" She ordered firmly. "I didn't want even a single one of you to be here, but seeing how you all decided otherwise and you won't listen to me, I suppose I have no other choice but to make the most of it. I'm going to lay down our basic strategy. First is this: You. Do _not._ Engage Leviathan." She emphasized each word firmly. "This is _non-negotiable._ Not a single one of you is to get within fifty yards of the bastard. If you see him coming towards you, you run, you fly, hell, you _dig_ for all I care, it doesn't matter, you just get the _hell_ out of there. He is a Brute 10, you are all Brute _nothing,_ so much as a glancing blow _will_ kill you. Am. I. Clear?"

The Reapers gave a general murmur of understanding.

"Good. Now then, second: most of you will be acting as search and rescue. I've gone over the records of old Endbringer fights, and a _lot_ of the casualties have been because no one was able to get to anybody who was injured or trapped in time. You have your Melodies and your Noise, use them to find and rescue anybody who survives this bastard's rampage." The Composer focused on a Reaper in a yellow rain slicker. "Shanty, I want you to round up the best Shark Noise and Melody Reapers you know. You'll be in charge of helping anybody in risk of drowning, but make sure you do it _far_ from Leviathan. He's a hydrokinetic, so if he senses you in the water, there's a good chance that he'll crush you before you know what's going on. Understood?"

The Reaper nodded decisively. "Aye-aye, ma'am."

The Composer nodded in turn. "Good. Now then, third: While we won't be engaging Leviathan directly, we _will_ still be fighting him." She indicated the boxes the pseudo-bears were carrying. "Inside of these crates are some of the strongest, rarest Noise that I've ever made. Circle Pit Grizzlies, Metal Corehogs, Dub Rhinos, Fusion Sharks, even Wooly AORs. Those of you who are really good with Noise, you'll be carting them around and bringing out as many Noise as you can, as fast as you can. We're going to flood this bastard with a mess of warm bodies. Industrial, Screamo, Thrash, Acid, Soul, come here."

Five of the larger, heavier-set Reapers stepped forwards.

The Composer indicated for one of the Grizzlies to set down its crate and then remove the lid, which it proceeded to do. Inside of the crate were five herbicide-sprayer packs. The plastic jugs on the backs were decorated with stencils of roaring dragons.

"These," She heaved out the packs and started handing them to the Reapers. "Are the only five Goth Metal Drakes I've ever made. With any luck, they'll be able to stand up to Leviathan, so I want us to make these last. Industrial, you'll use yours first, then the person closest to Leviathan will use theirs, And so on. Understood?"

"Got it." The large Reapers chorused as they firmly secured the packs.

"Right, next-!" The Composer was interrupted by something red suddenly blurring next to her and halting, revealing itself to be Velocity carrying a pair of cardboard boxes.

"Here." He grunted, handing the boxes to Grunge. "Armbands that Dragon made. I don't know how many of you there are, so I grabbed as many as I could. They'll track your locations and vital signs. Screen goes on top, button on the left communicates to with everyone else, button on the right pings your location, press both at once to get a flier to pick you up and move you to a better location. Armsmaster will explain more later." And with that, he blurred away.

Grunge opened one of the boxes and made a hasty estimate before nodding. "Should be enough in here for all of us."

"Good. Start handing them out." The Composer scanned the crowd and gestured for two Reapers in particular to step up. "Synth, Chiptune, get over here!" She then snapped her fingers, prompting Psychedelic to appear in a flash of flames. "Go to Tattletale, wait until she's ready, then bring her here. And make sure you don't overload her powers again."

Psycho snapped off a hasty salute and burst into flames, appearing not thirty seconds later with Tattletale in tow.

"That's never _not_ going to be trippy..." The Thinker groaned as she tried to regain her balance.

Meanwhile, the DJs snapped into hasty salutes. "Yeah, Boss?"

"You two are going to be our eyes in the skies." The Composer jabbed her thumb upwards. "Leviathan is big, but the city's bigger, and he's stupid fast, so there's an all-too-real possibility that we could lose him. You make sure we _don't_ do that. The winds will be choppy, but with any luck your Canors will be able to handle it. Use both the armbands _and_ our phones. Nothing against Dragon, but some redundancy never hurt."

She then rounded on Tattletale. "You're one of the smartest people in this room, so there's no way in hell we're going to let you put yourself at risk by staying on the ground.. You'll be going up with the DJs so that you can have a birdseye view of the situation and feed intel to everyone as need be."

Silence reigned for a second as the Composer stared at the three expectantly before she flung her hands up in the air. "What the hell are you waiting for, Leviathan to make landfall!? You're not going in ten minutes, or even ten seconds, you're going _now!_ Go, out the doors and up, now now _now damn it!"_

 _That_ got the trio moving, scrambling through the crowd and towards the nearest available doors.

The Composer snorted a heavy breath through her nose before finally speaking. "Right... Psychedelic, is your... 'friend' here?"

Suddenly, Psycho was joined by a second figure who looked like a negative image of him. His clothes, mask and markings were all similar, but where Psycho's clothes were white with red patterns, the doppleganger's were dark blue with pitch-black designs.

The Composer nodded definitively. "Good. Round up everyone who knows how to handle using the Foxes. You'll be acting as first-responders and transport. Move anyone who needs to be moved so that we can try setting up some traps for Leviathan and make certain that anybody who needs medical attention gets it ASAP. Got it?"

The two masked individuals nodded in synch.

"Good. Grab who you need and go."

Psychedelic burst into flames instantly, swiftly grabbing seven other Reapers in the crowd one after another before vanishing. Meanwhile, his doppleganger stood silent for a moment before collapsing into a pile of ashes.

"Alright, good, good..." The Composer muttered as she watched Psycho grab a few Reapers out of the crowd before addressing her lieutenants. "As for the rest of you-"

"Excuse me?"

The Composer groaned and rolled her eyes as she turned to face the woman in a rose cloak and gold mask who had addressed her. A second of brain-wracking provided the cape's name. "Rosary, right? From Haven? Forgive me if I'm rude, but I have troops to coordinate. _What?"_

The woman stared at her flatly before speaking. "You are aware that the person who was here earlier was Oni Lee, correct?"

The Composer could already feel a headache starting to blossom. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The man is a notorious assassin with absolutely no respect for life. Why haven't you turned him into the PRT?" The Christian cape demanded.

The Composer stared at her in disbelief. "You _do_ realize that the Endbringer Truce is a thing, right?"

"Yes, but I'm assuming that you've known him for quite some time, and I want to know why someone with a relatively neutral standing like yours would tolerate his freedom." Rosary clarified.

The chief Reaper stared at her flatly for a second before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose through her gasmask. "Look, after... everything, that happened with the ABB two weeks ago, Lee was left without someone to take orders from. I don't know what his malfunction is, but either way he hit it off with Psychedelic and has been following his lead ever since. I think he might be building an identity off of him or something, hell if I know. Either way, I've been able to keep him off the streets and out of anyone else's hands, plus when you get down to it his powers make him really useful."

"Why would his powers be a factor with powers like yours?" Rosary asked in confusion.

The Composer shot her a flat glare through her gasmask. "Okay, listen, I don't know what you hear down in Hodunk, Alabama-!"

"Topeka, Kansas actually," Chicago provided.

The Composer blinked and stared at him in surprise. "Seriously? That's just... yikes. That is unfortunate." She shook her head flatly. "Anyways... Let me give you a basic rundown of my powers: I can make paint, I can make creatures known as Noise, I can grow parts of Noise anatomy, and I can let other people use Noise and Noise anatomy as well. That's it, full stop, end of story. I can't raise the dead, I can't cause atomic fission, and I can't call down stupidly huge and powerful... _Jesus beams!_ _Got it?"_

Rosary leaned back nervously at the outburst, hastily beating a retreat as she seemed to finally realize that she was antagonizing a Parahuman a full factor more powerful than her. "I- uh- U-Understood. W-well, good luck, with... everything? Mayhaps we can discuss this later when things are less... hectic?"

"I'll think about it." The Composer responded noncommittally.

And with that, Rosary beat a hasty retreat back to her team.

The Composer stared after before sighing and shaking her head. "Damn black-and-white evangelists..." She muttered before readdressing her people. "Right, anyways, where was I?"

"Yo." Gangsta snapped her fingers and gestured at herself and the rest of the Composer's lieutenants."

"Ah, right, right, anyways..." The Composer shifted mental gears as she turned her attention to them. "You six and Psycho are my closest and most trusted allies. I want you all to do your very best to get out of this alive."

"That _would_ be a preferable outcome for all of us, yes." Chicago nodded in agreement.

"Is there an actual _point_ to this here speech?" South asked. "Besides a tearful goodbye?"

"Yes, there is. I have an order for all of you, one I've already given Psycho." The Composer looked each of them dead in the eye, one after another. "Do anything and use anything to survive. _Anything._ Am I clear?"

The six jerked in surprise as they processed that statement.

"Are you telling us to use...?" Grunge scratched his chest uncomfortably.

"If you have to, yes." The Composer confirmed.

"Sweet!" Hip squealed. "Finally, we can devastate a full city district _without_ getting in trouble!"

"It's like a dream come true!" Hop sighed rapturously.

"You two do realize that your attitudes are at least a _little_ inappropriate for this situation, right?" Grunge demanded.

The pre-teens glanced at one another before shrugging indifferently.

"There's a very good chance that we could kick the bucket, we know." Hop stated.

"But if we're gonna die, then we'll die _laughing,_ damn it! Gotta flip Leviathan the bird _somehow."_ Hip concluded.

The mood soured instantly at the reminder of imminent doom.

"Damn it, you two..." Gangsta groaned.

Grunge glanced around before drawing himself up to his full height. "Gentlemen... and Gangsta. And Hip and Hop. And Chicago."

"I'm not _that_ bad."

"You _can_ be a bit insufferable at times."

"...point."

"I just want you all to know..." The bear-wielding Reaper snapped up a salute. "It's been an honor serving with you, in whatever capacities I did."

"Ahhh!" Gangsta cooed as she spread her arms. "Come here you big-!"

"I will break your arms off of your skinny body."

"Noted."

The Composer chuckled melancholically at her friend's antics as she turned to face face the rest of the capes in the building.

"It was nice knowing you all."

 **-o-**

"Hmm... a valid strategy, Krieg..." Kaiser mused thoughtfully. "Though difficult to implement. These monsters do not have human mentalities. Baiting them would be difficult at best, impossible at worst..."

"I know, _herr,"_ Krieg sighed solemnly. "But at this point, better to take all chances than die like dogs, _nein?"_

The steel tyrant considered this for a moment before nodding in agreement. "A fair point... Very well. Fenja."

The valkyrie-themed villain on his left snapped to attention.

"Go and inform Hookwolf, Stormtiger and Crusader of what we'll be attempting," He hesitated for a second before sighing heavily. "As well as any heroes you pass along the way. It would be best if they knew not to interfere when we try this."

Fenja nodded tersely and marched off, deftly navigating her way through the throng of hero and villain parahumans alike.

Kaiser watched as his soldier marched off, ensuring her safe passage. The truce might have been in effect, but humans would always be humans, and you could never be too careful. Right when he was about to look away, one parahuman in particular caught his eye.

"What on earth...?" He frowned.

"Sir?" Menja questioned in confusion.

"Wait here," He ordered grimly as he braved the crowd himself, more than a few parahumans giving way for fear of angering the parahuman crimelord any further than he apparently already was.

Once Kaiser was a few feet away from his target, he came to a halt, straining his ears to try and make out what the individual was saying over the general ruckus of the crowd without being noticed. The second he managed to make out a comprehensible sentence, he paled dramatically, hastily making his way through the crowd in search of someone he could inform of this... _unsettling_ development.

The second he caught sight of one of those someones, he lashed out and grabbed their arm.

Miss Militia jerked in shock. "What the-? Kaiser!?" She exclaimed upon catching sight of her captor. "What the hell do you think you're-!?"

"Skidmark is going cold turkey," Kaiser hissed hastily.

Miss Militia blinked as she processed that statement before tensing. "He's _what?"_

"Two weeks clean." Kaiser reiterated grimly. "I overheard him complaining how he wished he could break his streak on account of the fight, but he doesn't have any on hand. I thought it would be best if you were informed."

Miss Militia nodded numbly. "Skidmark... clean... at an Endbringer fight..." She slowly raised a hand. "You might be a racist ass, Kaiser, but it was nice knowing you."

Kaiser nodded solemnly and shook her hand. "And you as well, Miss Militia. Here's to dying a good, honorable death."

"I'd prefer to stay alive, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"You shitstains realize you're like _ten feet away from me,_ right!?"

"Shut up, Skidmark."

 **-o-**

Legend cast his gaze over the assembled Parahumans morosely, wondering for a second who would remain after the following hours before clearing his throat. The simple action drew the attention of everyone in the room to him.

"We owe thanks to Dragon and Armsmaster for their early alert." He stated firmly. "We've had time to gather, and that means we have just a few more minutes to prepare and brief for Leviathan's arrival, instead of jumping straight into the fray as we arrive. With this advantage, some luck, teamwork and hard effort from everyone, I hold out hope that this could be one of the good days."

He let everyone mull over that for a moment before continuing.

"But either way, you should know your chances going in. Given the statistics from our previous encounters with this beast, a 'good day' still means that one in four of the people in this room will probably be dead before this day is done."

 **-o-**

"I don't know about you, but I like those odds." Hip grinned at her brother, albeit with maybe one or two too many teeth.

"Tell me about it," Hop chuckled. "Two hundred says that Grunge gets crushed by his own ego."

"Heh..." Hip nodded slowly. She trailed off for a moment before slowly biting her thumb. "Five hundred says that I don't make it."

Hop snapped a glare at his sister. "That's not just not funny, it's _stupid._ If you win, who do I pay!?"

"Put it towards a good funeral?" Hip's smirk grew a bit shakier.

Hop glared at her flatly for a second.

Then he slapped her upside the head.

"OW! Hey, you can't hit a girl!"

"Oh suck it up, you've hit me twice as hard!" Hop growled. "Two things: First, you've slugged drug dealers ten times as hard. And second, you're _not_ dying here. Neither of us are! We survived Lung, we survived that _thing_ two weeks ago, and we managed to _barely_ survive our genetic donors!"

"They weren't _actively_ trying to kill us..." Hip grumbled.

"Could have fooled me." Hop rolled his eyes. "Anyways, the point is that we've faced most types of monsters known to man. What's one more, huh?"

"Heh..." Hip swallowed heavily and redoubled her grin. "Yeah... just one more..."

 **-o-**

"We think of Leviathan as the middle child; he was the second of the three to arrive." Legend continued. "He is not the physical powerhouse Behemoth is, nor the cunning manipulator that the Simurgh so often proves to be. That said, I would advise you to think of him as having many of the strengths of both siblings at once. You've seen the videos on television and the internet. You know what he is physically capable of. I want to be clear that despite the image he might convey, he is not stupid, and he can display a level of cunning and tactics that can and will catch you off guard."

 **-o-**

"And I thought facing one down was bad enough..." Vector scowled.

"Never thought you'd see round two, huh?"

The relatively-rookie hero glanced over his shoulder at the familiar bodysuit-clad form behind him before looking back at Legend. "Never really wanted to either," He was silent for a moment before speaking again. "Where's-?"

"Vista put me in a hotel about a mile away," a heavily armored ant-centaur creature clicked roughly as it stepped up next to him. "If the fight comes towards me, I'll wake up and call someone to get me."

Vector nodded solemnly. "Fair enough." Another moment of silence. "Oliver?"

"Chicago shoved him on a bus with a few grand and told him to come back in a few hours if the city was still standing and to make due if it wasn't."

"Good..." Vector nodded firmly. "Good."

 **-o-**

"You are doing a good thing. The greatest thing." Legend reaffirmed. "This is why we are tolerated, why society allows and accounts for the capes that walk the streets and fight in its towns. Because we are needed for situations like this. With your assistance, we can forestall the inevitable. Your efforts and, if you choose to make them, your sacrifices, will be remembered."

 **-o-**

Hookwolf slapped his palms on Cricket and Stormtiger's shoulders.

The pair looked back at him questioningly.

"Don't die." He grunted.

They nodded in understanding and looked forwards again.

 **-o-**

"-forcefields, telekinesis, whatever your power, if you can interrupt Leviathan's movements or help reduce the impacts of the waves-!"

Suddenly, armbands across the hall squawked to life.

 _"Tidal wave incoming, get out or drown!"_ Tattletale announced frantically.

Instantly, capes across the hall burst into action.

"Strider, get us out of here!" Legend bellowed.

"PSYCHO!" The Composer roared.

Psycho ported in in a flash of flames at the same time as a blue-uniformed hero, eight tails waving behind him. A crack of thunder announced the departure of several dozen heroes, while a sea of tribal-style fire enveloped the Reapers and a few other parahumans.

When the flames faded, the Reapers were positioned on multiple rooftops overlooking the bay, close to a dozen Reapers per roof. The rest of the heroes and villains appeared either on other rooftops or the street via different means of transportation or flew up into the air, some hovering alongside the pair of massive bats that were circling far above the city.

The Composer raked the water searching for the source of the tempest that had engulfed the city.

She didn't need to look far.

Striding down the devastated remains of the Boardwalk were thirty feet and God-only-knew-how-many tons of inhuman, monstrous scaled flesh and claws. Gallon after gallon of liquid poured from his frame and filled the space behind him as he made his way towards the assembled army, his movements a sickening amalgamation of staggering, jerking and slithering. His head snapped madly to and fro as his mismatched set of eyes swept over the waiting city. His tail whipped about animatedly, cracking the air with every lash and thrash.

Even though he himself was silent, the roar and crash of the titanic waves and the howling of the storm were announcement enough.

Leviathan had arrived.

 **A.N. I hope you've enjoyed the speedy update rate... because now I've run out of pre-written chapters, so it's gonna be awhile. Sorry. Still, enjoy what I have until I update anew.**


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